


Twenty-One

by TeekiJane



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeekiJane/pseuds/TeekiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Youth culture holds up a young person's twenty-first birthday as a major right of passage. Will our heroes feel the same way, or will they wind up disappointed and disaffected?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Triplet Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the triplets gather together to celebrate their twenty-first birthday, Adam discovers that both of his brothers have a secret—one happy; the other, not so much.

By the spring of my junior year, I had everything. I finally had my GPA under control. I was pretty sure I was a shoe-in for Kapp president in the fall, and for the first time in a long time, I had a girl I actually called my girlfriend. She was a sophomore, tall—nearly as tall as I am—with thick black hair, honey colored skin, and an accent. Things were pretty good, and they were about to get better.

I was one day shy of turning twenty-one. 

Two years before, my brothers and I had made a pact to get together every year, the weekend of our birthday. Last year, they’d both caught flights to Ohio to stay in the frat house with me, and this year, Jordan and I were going to California. I’d wanted to go to Gainesville because I figured we could hitch a ride down and catch the tail-end of spring break festivities, but my brothers had shot me down. Jordan was still living in the dorms this year, while Byron and Jeff had a small apartment. I was looking forward to seeing the guys—all three of them—again. 

Byron was working nights at a combination gas station and convenience store, something that I’d never in my wildest imagination dreamed of him doing. He said the pay stunk but that not too many people came in at two in the morning, so he was able to get his homework done between customers. In any case, he had to work an earlier Friday shift in order to have the weekend off to be with us. He’d emailed me directions on how to get to his place from the Oakland airport and then had left it up to me and Jordan to coordinate the rest. His downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Metzsky, was a nosy busybody, but she was always home and she’d agreed to hold a key to Byron’s place for us and buzz us in. 

Things were going exactly as we’d planned until Jordan had to wait for his luggage. “Why did you even check a bag?” I asked him. “We’re only going to be here for the weekend.” It had been a long flight—actually, two long flights that had had me running from one end of the Chicago airport to the other—and it was late. I just wanted to get to Byron’s and settle in. 

“I have my reasons,” he answered, trying to be mysterious. We found his suitcase, a small bag he could have carried onto the plane, and it seemed to be mostly empty. He opened one pocket and checked on the contents, and when he was finally done with that, the two of us found our way to the local transit. 

It was nearly an hour later by the time we found Byron’s place. By then, I was dragging. I had an eight a.m. class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and I’d stupidly stayed up until two Thursday night. Mrs. Metzsky let us in and fussed at us—all that triplet crap about how much we look like Byron, only his hair is a little longer and he has glasses, don’t you know. Yeah, we knew. Both Jordan and I had the same vision as Byron, the exact same prescription, but we wore contacts. After we’d finally managed to get free from Mrs. Metzsky, we had to climb three flights of stairs. “I wonder why Jeff didn’t meet us,” Jordan asked as he hauled his suitcase up with him. 

I shrugged. I only had a backpack, so I wasn’t huffing nearly as much as Jordan was. “Maybe he has plans,” I suggested. 

“I hope he didn’t think that ‘triplet weekend’ meant that he had split,” Jordan commented as we reached Byron’s floor. 

“Maybe he’s working too.” I had the key and we found Byron’s door pretty quickly. It was the only one with a doormat. Leave it to Byron to decorate in a dump like this place. 

Inside the apartment was about what I’d expected, given the building. Everything was old but serviceable, including all the furniture. They had a Salvation Army couch that couldn’t have cost more than $40, plus a couple of unattractive but comfortable looking chairs. Byron had clearly been decorating in here too—there was some artwork on one wall and a clock on another. A small dinette set sat in the corner, but it was covered with a table cloth and a couple other homey touches. 

I started to wonder about a few things right away, though. A couple bookcases on one wall were covered in Byron’s books. One had all of his school books while the other was covered in the books from our childhood and teen years that had spoken to Byron for whatever reason. I picked out well-worn, familiar copies of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and _The Outsiders_ among the other titles. But where were Jeff’s books? Granted, he wasn’t as big a reader as Byron, but shouldn’t there be a collection of “How to Teach Math” and “How to Get Bratty Kids to Listen to You” books? 

Jordan ran straight to the bathroom while I looked around. Byron had left a note for us on the fridge: Welcome to Berkeley. Make yourselves at home. I’ll be home by nine-fifteen. I was reading it over, noting that he hadn’t signed it, when Jordan came back out of the bathroom. “Jeff must have gone back to L.A. for the weekend,” he surmised. “There’s only one toothbrush in the bathroom, only one razor, that sort of thing.” 

“Bummer,” I noted. “I was really hoping to spend some time with him, too.” 

“Me, too.” Jordan was now taking a look around. “Wonder what the sleeping arrangements are.” 

I opened the only other door, to what must have been Jeff and Byron’s bedroom, and got the answer to that question. There was a king-sized bed, covered in a simple blue blanket, and by the foot of the bed was a sleeping bag. “Looks like two of us will be taking the bed and the third, sleeping on the floor,” I observed. 

“I call ‘not the floor,’” Jordan commented idly. He was poking in the fridge. 

“Of course you do.” I joined him in the kitchen. “Anything good in there?” 

“Not unless you call carrot sticks or baloney good.” He tossed open a couple cupboards and found some boxes of cereal. “This’ll do, if the milk isn’t sour.” 

This time, I stood behind him as he opened the mostly-empty refrigerator. “Gawd,” I said, grabbing the door and holding it open after Jordan grabbed a carton of milk. “What is Byron eating?” 

“If the contents of the cupboard are any indication,” Jordan said, pouring some store-brand Lucky Charms into a bowl that was sitting, clean, in the dish drainer, “Cereal for breakfast, baloney sandwiches for lunch, and ramen noodles for dinner.” 

“Gross.” I poked around myself and found a second bowl, which I also filled with cereal. It wasn’t until I was almost done eating that it occurred to me to wonder what exactly _Jeff_ was eating in this apartment. There wasn’t a single thing on that list of foods that Jeff would touch, unless he, too, had gone on Byron’s college boy “eat what you can afford” diet. 

Byron came home shortly after nine. I had figured that, since we had his apartment key, he’d need to be buzzed into the building. Jordan and I were sitting on the couch talking—there wasn’t much else to do, since there was no television or stereo—when we heard a key in the lock. “It’s our missing third,” Jordan commented. 

Byron was laden down. He had groceries in two cloth bags on one arm and his laptop case on the other, with a backpack on both shoulders. “Hey guys,” he called while the door was still open. “Have any trouble finding the place?” 

“None at all,” Jordan said. He rushed over to grab the groceries from Byron, while I shut and locked the door behind him. “Your directions were very accurate.” 

“As we’d both expected,” I added. I opened one of the grocery bags and began removing items from it. 

Byron gave instructions to Jordan and me as we put away his food products. “Thanks for the help,” he said as he unloaded the rest of his bags. “My Monday homework is almost finished, so I’m going to do something I rarely do: put my books away for the weekend." He actually took a huge stack of books and put them under his desk. “I’m not even going to look at them again until you two are gone.” 

“Glad to know you’re willing to make sacrifices,” I joked. 

“This isn’t a sacrifice; it’s a vacation,” he retorted. 

When everything was put away, Jordan reached into his suitcase, looking for whatever he’d been checking on at the airport. “Let’s start the celebration right away,” he said. Byron had just plopped down on one of the chairs, while I was sitting on the arm of the couch. Jordan turned back from his bag with a bottle of champagne. “Byron, you have any champagne flutes or wine glasses?” 

Byron raised an eyebrow. “No. Why would I?” Jeff was a binge drinker who had made the decision to quit drinking, while Byron just never really got into alcohol. There was no need for wine glasses here. 

“Of course not. Well, what do you have?” 

“Some plastic drinking cups.” 

Byron rose to get them, but Jordan stopped him. “No, let me. Just tell me where they are.” Like his street directions, Byron’s kitchen directions were very accurate. Jordan quickly had three unmatched plastic cups. They reminded me of what we used to drink Kool-Aid out of when we were kids. “Had a feeling you didn’t have a corkscrew, so I brought my own.” 

While Jordan fumbled (amusingly) with the corkscrew, I spoke up. “Why do you have champagne?” I asked. “Byron agreed to have _one_ drink with us. Don’t make it be something crappy like cheap champagne.” We’d been thinking of trying to get him to do a shot with us. 

“Who says it’s cheap?” Jordan’d finally gotten the cork out, only making a slight mess. “Anyway, he doesn’t have to drink any. Just have the cup to toast with us.” 

Byron watched all of this, slightly warily. Jordan poured a small amount of the champagne at the bottom of each of our cups. “What’s this taste like?” Byron asked, holding his cup—which was neon green and from the activities fair at Duke, 2004—away from his face. 

“Dunno,” Jordan replied. “I’ve never had it before.” 

“It’s nasty,” I responded. I wasn’t really a big fan of wine, but champagne was the worst. It was like the diet soda of alcohol. Byron blanched and I inspected my own drink. (My cup was red and from a pizza place that I gathered was right down the block.) “But like he said, you don’t have to actually drink any.” 

“If we’re toasting,” Byron said after a moment, “then I’ll have a polite sip. I won’t count that as my drink, either.” 

“I’ll make the toast,” Jordan said, and since this was all his doing, neither one of us argued. He held up his cup, which was white with light colored writing. I could only make out the word Stoneybrook. I snickered. Byron’s cups were from three different states. “To brothers,” Jordan began his toast, “and to finally being adults in the eyes of the law.” He held his cup up a little farther and paused. Not sure if he was done or not, Byron and I both took a moment and lowered our cups, distracted. That’s why the second part of his toast surprised us so much. “Congratulate me, guys. I’m engaged.” 

Byron had pulled his cup up under his nose to take a sniff, and he spilled his champagne nearly all down his front and onto the chair and floor. I’d decided to take a premature sip to see how high-class this stuff actually was and I inhaled it, breaking out into a fit of coughing. 

Jordan’s eyes grew huge at our responses. “I didn’t quite expect this,” he said, thumping me on the back while Byron ran to get some towels to clean up his mess. “I was hoping for more of a ‘Congratulations, Jordan, we’re so happy for you.’” 

I coughed a few more times. “Congratulations, Jordan,” I said in a sarcastic monotone, “We’re so happy for you.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Adam.” 

Byron was steadily rubbing at a spot on the chair, not making eye contact with either one of us. “You’re welcome,” I replied, matching Jordan’s tone. “Honestly, though, engaged? Why?” 

“What do you mean, why?” Jordan hadn’t actually drunk any of his champagne after the disastrous toast, but he found a coaster on Byron’s crappy little end table and set his cup down. “I love Haley, and we’ve been together for three years. I know she’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.” 

“The rest of your life?” I drained my drink. Even though champagne was gross, it was free alcohol, and Jordan had been right—this wasn’t the cheap stuff. “If we were still on the East Coast, we would have only been twenty-one for,” I checked my watch, which was still set to Ohio time. “Twenty minutes. And you think you’ve figured out the rest of your life.” 

“Not my whole life,” he said. “Just this one, very important part.” It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Anyway, Adam, it’s not like we’re running out to get married this summer. We’re going to wait a while.” 

“How long is a while?” I was having images of having to go help him pick out tuxes and whatever other details are involved in a wedding, and it made me shudder. Being a groomsman—which I assumed I would be—was as close as I ever wanted to get to getting married myself. But I’d been hoping to not even do _that_ for a long time still. 

“We haven’t set a date,” Jordan admitted, “but we do have a time frame. We’re thinking spring of 2010.” 

I gaped at him. “That’s three years away!” 

“I told you it would be a while.” 

“What’s the point of even getting engaged now then?” I asked him. 

Jordan sighed, and I could tell I was irritating him. “I love her,” he repeated. “And I wanted to show her—and the rest of the world—how much.” 

“Why? Don’t you show her how much you love her in bed every night anyway?” Jordan wrinkled his brow and looked away. Byron, who had been following this whole discussion without input, finally looked up from his towel. He shook his head at me subtly. I got the message. “You still haven’t slept with her yet?” I asked, shocked. “Why the hell not?” 

Jordan’s mouth was set in a small line, his lips pressed hard together. “It’s not that we don’t want to,” he said finally. “At this point, we’ve just decided to wait.” 

“You’re going to wait three more years?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Jordan had to be the only guy in the history of the universe willing to wait six whole years to have sex with a girl he claimed to love. 

“No….” Jordan shook his head. “No, we’re not waiting until then. Just till the fall.” 

“The fall?” 

“Dave’s girlfriend is graduating and they’ve decided to move in together, halfway between her new job and campus. Since I didn’t want to break in another dorm roommate, I decided to move into an apartment complex down the street from the school.” Jordan seemed to be nervous about this part of the story, although I wasn’t exactly sure why. “It’s a three bedroom place, and my friend Aaron is moving into one of the other rooms. Haley’s friend Chris is taking the third.” 

I thought about that for a moment. “And Haley?” 

For the first time since I’d started interrogating him, he actually smiled. “We’re sharing a bed.” He leaned in a little closer to me, although he didn’t lower his voice any. “There’s just no privacy in the dorms. She’d come over and stay while Dave was out, but even when we thought he was gone for the night, he might come home with no warning. He’s caught us with our pants down a few times.” 

“Literally or metaphorically?” 

Byron rolled his eyes but Jordan smiled again. “Both. Like I said, Adam, we’re just waiting. Remember that list that we had of things you can do with a girl? Well, Haley and I have accomplished most of the list.” 

Okay. Now he sounded more normal. It had taken Haley more than a year to be comfortable with the idea of Jordan taking his pants off, and even longer to be willing to actually do stuff. I’d had to listen to a detailed account of her first pathetic attempt at a blow job. After I’d made it clear that I didn’t want to hear it, Jordan had stopped sharing any details of his sex life, or lack thereof, with me. Until now. “I hope that after all this waiting and building up, you aren’t disappointed,” I commented. 

“Not any more than you were after your first time,” he teased. I barely even remembered my first time any more, but I did remember having a whole conversation with him about how awkward it was. I grinned. 

Byron tossed the towels he’d been blotting with on the floor. “I think it’s great,” he said. He was trying to sound enthusiastic, but something was off. “Both parts of it. I can’t believe that after all this time, you’re finally going to get the privacy you need with her. And engaged! Wow!” He gave Jordan a hug. 

“I have to admit that if I had my way, we wouldn’t be waiting until 2010 to get married,” Jordan said. “I was hoping for next summer—2008, after I graduate. But if she’d agreed to it, I probably would have run to the justice of the peace and married her right then and there. She wanted to wait longer.” 

“Yeah, but three years?” I asked. 

“Haley wanted to wait until after she’s graduated to do most of the planning and work. It does make more sense, because then we’ll hopefully both have jobs and more money to pay for things like chicken dinner for 100 and a honeymoon and furniture. Plus, she’s got the chance to go study in the Basque region of Spain next summer. The cultural anthropology study recommends a semester abroad, but they give equal consideration to this program as to a whole semester. It’s so elite that you have to apply two years out, and she’s on the short list.” 

“She made the cut?” Byron asked. Obviously, he’d heard of this Spanish opportunity before, probably from Haley herself. “That’s great.” He gave a full smile at that point, and that’s when I realized what had been missing from his happiness earlier. He was smiling only with his mouth, not with his eyes. I wondered, briefly, whether he was actually unhappy with Jordan and Haley getting married for some reason. Maybe the idea of his best friend also being his sister-in-law was weirding him out. Just thinking the word sister-in-law was freaking _me_ out. “So when did this whole engagement happen, and why didn’t I hear about it from Hay?” 

Jordan laughed. “She didn’t tell you because we’d originally planned to keep it a secret. We wanted to sit our families down together and tell them. But she’s the one who pointed out that I’d probably blurt it out this weekend while I was drunk, so I might as well tell you two straight out.” I laughed also; it was true. Jordan didn’t like to get drunk-off-his-gourd wasted very often, but the two times I’d seen him that drunk before, he’d gotten extremely talkative and spilled every secret he knew. “As for when we got engaged, that’s a good question. It’s debatable.” 

I cocked my head at him. “How, exactly?” 

“Well,” he answered slowly. “You could go by the day I asked her, which was exactly one week ago today. That’s when she told me she wanted to marry me, but couldn’t say yes to my proposal. Or you could go by when she actually said yes and I put the ring on her finger, which was Tuesday.” 

Byron frowned. “Why didn’t she say yes right away?” 

“She wanted to hash stuff out. Set me straight on when she wanted to get married, things like that.” Jordan looked up at the ceiling. “What I don’t think she realizes is that she could have told me she wanted to get married on the moon in 2035 and I would have agreed to it. After I agreed to all her terms, she said she wanted to think about it some.” 

I guffawed. “Leave it to Haley to negotiate her own engagement,” I commented. 

“A control freak to the end,” Byron added, shaking his head fondly. “And Jordan? Don’t think that means she doesn’t know how crazy you are about her. She knows that if she decided to move to Tibet and study with the Dalai Lama, you’d follow her. She just likes to test you on it sometimes, to remind herself.” Jordan smiled. 

I grabbed the bottle of champagne and filled my cup—and Byron’s—back up. “On that note,” I said, “Let’s try that toast again.” I wasn’t really excited about Jordan getting married. I didn’t ‘hate’ Haley like I had when we were teens; she was alright. I just didn’t understand why he wanted to get married in the first place, especially not so young. But I didn’t want to rain on his parade. I handed Byron his cup and Jordan picked his back up. “To Jordan and Haley.” 

We ‘clinked’ our cups together and took a sip. Byron put his cup down, but Jordan and I finished ours off. “I just remembered,” Jordan said. “I promised to call Haley and let her know I made it here safely.” He fished a cell phone out of his pocket and turned it on. 

“When did you get a cell phone?” Byron asked him. I was the only one of the three of us who carried one. 

“I didn’t,” he answered. “It’s Haley’s. She wanted me to keep in touch, so she lent it to me. I need to call her dorm. Can I use your bedroom?” Byron nodded. “Thanks.” 

“Remember,” I called after him, “It’s well after midnight in Florida.” 

“I know,” he called back. “But she’ll worry if I don’t call.” 

Byron shook his head. “She’s already got him whipped,” he said. 

I looked at him. “Okay, spill,” I demanded. 

Byron’s expression was one of bewilderment. “What are you talking about?” 

“Your best friend is marrying your brother. You pretty well predicted this would happen.” There was no ‘pretty well’ about it. At Christmas, Byron had leaned over to me across the table after watching Jordan push Haley’s chair in for her and had said, ‘How much do you want to bet they’ll be engaged by the summer?’ “And yet you’re sitting here all stone-faced and quiet, trying to pretend you’re happy for them. Something’s bothering you, and I want to know what it is.” 

Byron sat back down in his seat. “Nothing’s wrong.” His voice was hardened and he was trying to avoid eye contact. 

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “Does this have something to do with you and Jeff? Because if you want to be like the heteros, you know you two can legally get married in Connecticut, right?” Byron sagged into the chair, turning farther away from me. His stony mask was fading away and I saw deep pain behind it. I put that together with the hints I’d gotten all evening and suddenly had a revelation. There wasn’t a single thing of Jeff’s in the whole apartment. “Oh,” I said, more gently this time. “Jeff isn’t living here anymore, is he?” 

“I kicked him out,” Byron said. “And broke up with him.” He put his head in his hands, but he wasn’t crying. I took a look at his left thumb and saw that Jeff’s ring was gone. He’d worn that ring for two years straight and never took it off, not even in the shower. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I was. As much as I was anti-marriage, I wasn’t exactly anti-relationship. Byron and Jeff had managed to hold it together while they were on opposite coasts and then while they were six hours apart, both here in California. They’d managed to survive Jeff’s disorder and Byron’s insecurities and fears. And at Christmas, they’d been blissfully happy at having made it through six months of cohabitating. I couldn’t help but wonder what had gone wrong. 

And I was about to find out. “We got into this big argument in February. Jeff’s dad holds all his money in a savings account and then doles him out a little at a time, like an allowance.” I raised my eyebrows. “When Jeff gets manic, he spends money. This way, he never has too much at a time.” I nodded my understanding. “Well, I thought I knew him better than that and I could trust him with the money. So we opened a joint account and were putting all our money in that together. And it’s not like it was much money, you know? Neither one of us was working too many hours. So we were budgeting carefully, but then Jeff spent our phone bill money on something. I don’t even remember what.” 

Byron got up and tossed the champagne-stained dish towels in the sink, then gathered up the two empty cups and put them in the sink too. I waited him out because I’ve learned that there’s no rushing him. “I got madder at him than I should have. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never done that before, right? It was just…he bought something so stupid and pointless. So we got heated and boy, can the two of us fight.” Byron plopped back down on the couch. 

“I seem to remember that,” I commented. I’d only been privy to one argument, but I knew how it happened. Byron likes to bottle his emotions instead of talking about them, then they pop out during disagreements, stronger than you’d expect given the situation. And Jeff? Well, he just doesn’t like to back down. So when my brother goes gunning for him, it turns into a war. 

“Yeah,” Byron acknowledged. “This was bad, though, and he started calling me a tight-ass and all kinds of other things. I _know_ I’m a tight-ass, but it really sucks when he points it out in the middle of things. So then I told him he was irresponsible and he told me…well, it doesn’t matter what he told me. Long story short, I told him to get out. I meant for a little while. We both needed to calm down and think so that we could have the discussion more rationally. But I’m not sure he knew that.” 

He dropped his head back down in his hands, but talked through the gap between them, only a little muffled. “You know what’s sad? Last Christmas, I overheard a brief ‘disagreement’ between Jeff’s mom and stepdad. We sound just like them, except they don’t get nearly as upset. Richard’s an old stick in the mud, like me, and Jeff takes after his mom in some ways. Sharon’s more devil-may-care and easygoing than either Richard, or Jack—Jeff’s dad.” 

“You’re not a stick in the mud,” I told Byron, and I meant it. Sure, he had moments when he was completely unyielding, but those were about things that were important to him—his morals and values. He wasn’t nearly as bad as he had been back in high school, when he’d still been stuck into the ‘everything is either right or wrong’ stage of development. 

“Yes, I am,” he said, a little amused at my attempt to stick up for him. “But it’s okay. I’ve accepted that, and I thought Jeff had, too.” He finally raised his head. “But Jeff didn’t come home that night. I didn’t sleep one wink, because I was worried about him. I wanted to call the cops, even though there wasn’t anything they could do. He hadn’t been gone for long enough.” Byron sighed. “I finally figured out he must have gone drinking. He hadn’t had a drink in a long time—over a year—but before that, he’d slip every now and then and end up binge drinking. And he still has that stupid fake ID. So I waited until the bars closed. But he still didn’t come home. 

“He showed up around noon and wanted to apologize. I told him that everything was fine, that he should sleep off his hangover and we’d talk the next day. But Jeff said he didn’t have a hangover and that’s not what he needed to apologize for anyway. He hadn’t spent the night passed out in a gutter.” For the first time, Byron’s voice broke and I thought he was going to cry. “He’d spent the night with someone else. A girl.” 

Okay. This was serious. Byron and Jeff had been a couple for three years and to my knowledge, they’d been completely faithful to each other that whole time. So cheating was definitely a serious problem, and I could only imagine how much worse Byron felt, knowing that Jeff had cheated on him with a _girl_. “Wow,” I replied. I slid from the arm of the couch where I’d been perched during all of this, making us eye level. “What happened?” 

“I told him to leave. He pointed out that I’d once told him the only thing I couldn’t stand for was lying, which is why he’d told me right away.” Byron’s breath was ragged, but he still wasn’t actually crying. “I told him that I’d said that at a time when I thought he wasn’t capable of something like this. I know he regrets it, because he was calling me every couple of hours until the phone got shut off, trying to get me to change my mind.” 

I reached over and bumped his arm with my fist. “You made the right choice,” I told him quietly. 

“Did I?” Byron replied. “I made a choice based upon emotions rather than rational thought. And, well,” he faded out for a moment and there it was—a tear in his eye. Just one, and he wiped it away without otherwise acknowledging it. “I miss him, Adam. More than I can explain.” 

I’d never been in a long-term relationship like that, so I couldn’t understand where he was coming from. I tried to play it off lightly. “Maybe you’re just horny,” I suggested. “You should go out and find someone to give you a roll in the hay.” 

“Right.” Byron actually laughed, getting what I was trying to do. “If that were all there was to it, I’d agree with you. But it’s not about sex. Okay, so I do miss sex some,” he admitted, and now it was my turn to laugh. “But I more miss things like sleeping together—just sleeping—with his arms wrapped around me. Or washing the dishes while he dried.” Byron sighed. “Thing is, I might be able to even get past the cheating. I haven’t forgiven him completely, but now that I’m not so mad, I realized that we might be able to get beyond this someday. But I don’t know how to tell him that, especially because I’m afraid that he’ll just take to mean that we can go back to where we were. And I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to go back to that.” 

I nodded, not having any comment on that. I couldn’t imagine wanting to take back someone who had cheated on me, but then I also couldn’t imagine being with the same girl for three years and then suddenly being single. “Why didn’t you tell us?” I asked. 

Byron shrugged. “At first, I didn’t want to talk about it. And I wanted this weekend to be fun, not just a rehashing of my failed love life. And now…well, Jordan’s so happy. I don’t want to be the one to bring him back to earth.” 

“He deserves to know,” I suggested. 

“And he will eventually. Like, this summer. Just not this weekend, okay?” 

Jordan rejoined us shortly thereafter. “Haley sends her love,” he said. “She said to tell you both happy birthday.” 

“Right,” I muttered. Jordan looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I didn’t acknowledge that. “You know I’m usually the last one to be the party pooper, but I’m exhausted. What are the sleeping arrangements?” 

Byron stood up. “Well, we only have the one bed here, and it’s only big enough for two. So I’ll sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor.” 

He opened the door to his bedroom and Jordan and I followed him. “You know,” I said, looking at the massive bed, “I bet that all three of us could sleep on there together. What do you think, Jordan?” 

He didn’t know what was going on, but he’s not stupid. “Sure! All for one and one for all, right? We’re not particularly big guys, and that’s a pretty big bed.” 

The three of us lay down with our heads on the pillows. “See, Byron?” I said. “We all fit. Let’s see how it goes tonight.” 

“Oh, alright,” Byron said. He rolled back off his side of the bed. “I need to take a quick shower. Anyone else?” Jordan and I both shook our heads. “Great. I’ll be out in less than five minutes and then we can really get into the ‘all for one’ spirit again and brush our teeth together like we used to when we were kids.” Sounding a little more cheerful than he had earlier, he grabbed a robe off the top of his dresser and left the room. 

I waited until I heard the bathroom door close to start talking. “You might want to scale back the engagement talk a little bit,” I said in a low voice. 

Jordan had rolled his suitcase into the bedroom and opened it. “Why? You already tired of hearing about it, Adam? Well, get over it. You’ll probably be hearing about it for the next three years.” 

“For once in my life, I’m actually not thinking about myself.” Jordan looked up from his suitcase, although I wasn’t sure if it was my tone or my words that made him stop what he was doing. I couldn’t believe I was only going to wait a few minutes before betraying Byron’s trust, but it was true. I knew he was wrong on this one. “It’s about Byron. And Jeff. Jeff’s not in LA for the weekend; he’s moved out entirely. He and Byron broke up.” 

Jordan was stunned. “Really? No joke?” 

“Would I joke about something like that?” I walked over to the closet and opened it. “Does anything in this closet look like something Jeff would wear? How about that fridge earlier? Did you see anything Jeff would eat?” 

Jordan thought about it for a second and then realized I must be right. “Poor Byron,” he said sympathetically. “Why didn’t he say anything?” 

“He didn’t want to ruin anything for us this weekend.” I opened my own bag and pulled out my pajama bottoms. 

Jordan was already half-dressed. “I need to say something to him,” he said, muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head. 

“No, don’t.” Jordan got free from the shirt and gave me a look. “He didn’t want me to tell you. He doesn’t want to spoil your happiness.” 

Jordan gave a mirthless chuckle. “That sounds like him. Self-sacrificing and miserable because of it.” He pulled on a t-shirt and then sat down on the bed, watching me fight with my pajamas. “What happened?” 

I shook my head. “It’s a really long story. Later, okay?” 

Byron’s shower was indeed short. He was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, hair still dripping, when we came out, dressed for bed. He scooted out of the way and rubbed the top of his head with a towel. Byron’s had a lot of hair styles since he chopped off his long hair, but this one seemed to have stuck. Vanessa called it a ‘reverse mullet.’ It was short in the back and longer on top, long enough that it got into his eyes. That seemed to be part of the selling point: Jeff had always loved pushing the hair out of Byron’s eyes. It was kind of his signature move, the way Jordan always put one hand on Haley’s cheek, just holding it, before he kissed her. 

Byron finished his hair and produced a toothbrush, and the three of us stood side by side at the sink. We brushed our teeth together but we were all in our own little worlds. None of us said a word. 

*** 

Jordan was careful to not spend too much more time talking about his engagement that night, or into the next day. I’m not sure if Byron even noticed. He was playing his favorite game—the one where he pretends that nothing’s wrong. He’d gotten a lot better at it, too. If he hadn’t told me about him and Jeff, I might not have even noticed that something was off. 

Byron had made some tentative plans for the day, but he’d left most of it open so that the three of us could decide what to do. “I figured you’d want to go sightseeing,” he said. Neither Jordan nor I had ever been to San Francisco before, and although Byron had lived in Berkeley for a year and a half, he hadn’t really done most of the touristy things. Having never really outgrown his childhood reputation as a big eater, he was eager to see the Ghirardelli factory, but left the rest of the decision to us. 

He produced a well-worn guidebook that he’d borrowed from his friend Perry. We finally decided on a few sights we had to see and headed out to the other side of the bay on a bus. We walked the length of the Golden Gate Bridge (and back, of course) and took one of the trolleys around town. We snapped photos of Lombard Street (that steep road with all the twists and turns) but decided not to climb it. We took a trolley out to the Fisherman’s Wharf and ate lunch while watching the sea lions. I spotted a tour of Alcatraz and begged Byron to go, even though it meant missing the chocolate factory. “I can go there on one of my days off over the summer,” he said good-naturedly. 

By late afternoon, we’d been walking and riding for hours, so we sat down outside a Starbucks with coffee. “What’s the plan for tonight?” Jordan asked. “Where are we going to drink?” 

I laughed. “You sound like me.” Jordan shrugged. He seemed to have set his heart on getting really, really drunk this weekend. “It’s a good question, though,” I went on. Byron didn’t go out; I wasn’t even sure he knew any decent places for a drink. 

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” Byron said sheepishly. I had the feeling he’d hoped we’d be okay with going out for dinner and _a_ drink and then having a quiet evening at home. 

“I have an idea,” Jordan piped up. “Last year, we went to a frat party because we were in your domain, Adam, and that’s what you would do.” I nodded, wondering where he was headed with this. “So, why don’t we find a gay bar this year? That can’t be hard to do, not in _this_ town.” 

Byron set his latte down. “You two would really go to a gay bar or club?” he asked, surprised. 

I smiled at his attitude. He seemed to be of the opinion that we didn’t want to be any part of his life out here. And while I didn’t want to hear any more about his sex life than I did about Jordan’s, that didn’t mean I didn’t want to see what his community was like. “Sure, why not?” First off, it might actually be fun, and even if it wasn’t, at least I’d have a good story to tell Priya and the guys back in Ohio. Anyway, I couldn’t imagine that a gay bar was really that different than a regular bar, except that most of the people would be hitting on people of the same sex. 

Byron shook his head. “I wouldn’t know where to go,” he pointed out. “I’ve never gone out, you know.” 

“Yeah, but,” I said, “Your friends must know places. They can’t all be homebodies like you are.” 

Byron tipped his head to one side, thinking. “Hey, Adam, can I borrow your phone?” he asked. I handed it over and he fumbled with it for a moment until he figured out how it worked. He then dialed a number from memory. “Perry? Hey, it’s By. Yeah. No, they’re here with me. Yup.” Byron listened for a minute and then laughed. “No, actually, I was hoping you can help us. We’re looking for a bar or club to go to tonight.” He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment, looking slightly irritated. “No, that wasn’t a joke. Please stop laughing.” 

Jordan and I looked at each other, amused at Perry’s response. Byron listened for a while and then pulled the phone away from his ear again and spoke to the two of us. “Perry says he’ll give us a few suggestions, but he wants to be there to prove that I actually went out.” 

“Invite him along,” Jordan said, not even looking up from his lemonade. “I’d like to meet your friends.” I nodded in agreement. 

“Okay, Per, you can come along. Why don’t you meet us after dinner? Yes, you can bring Buzzy, if you must. And whoever his latest trick is, before you ask. I know he’s not seeing that guy with the bad nose job anymore. Eight p.m. at The Cheese Board Collective, okay?” 

Byron ended the call and handed my phone back to me. I took it, but, like Jordan, I was staring at him. “What?” he asked, squirming. 

“Buzzy?” Jordan asked. I laughed, even though that wasn’t what had gotten to me about that conversation. 

“That’s not his real name.” Byron relaxed. “But he and Perry have been friends since they were young, so he still calls him by his childhood nickname. The rest of us have picked up on that.” 

I shook my head. “I’m really looking forward to meeting these people.” 

Byron was starting to warm up to the topic. “You’ll like them. Buzzy is wild and a little crazy. He’s got a different guy every time I see him, and he works as a…” Byron faded out for a moment. “He works as a go-go dancer to pay for school.” 

“Really?” Jordan was intrigued. 

“Yeah, really. Perry’s a little more…normal. Buzzy is one of those guys you know is gay the second you meet him. He can’t help it; something about him just screams ‘queer.’ Perry is that guy you could work with for ten years and not realize was gay until he mentioned something about his boyfriend.” Byron had finished his drink and he set the cup down. 

“How’d you meet these people?” I asked. I’d heard Perry stories before; he and Byron seemed to spend a lot of time together. 

“Jeff and Perry met at an LGBT support group at SFSU. Perry invited Jeff out for coffee. He had a clueless moment and didn’t realize that Perry was asking for a date. He accepted and brought me along.” Byron smiled and shook his head. “It worked out okay, though, because we ended up good friends. Buzzy doesn’t go to the group, but since he’s friends with Perry, we got to know him anyway.” 

“Do you meet all your friends through Jeff?” I asked. Byron gave me a little sideways glance. I wasn’t asking this to pry into his breakup more, but because I was a little worried that he didn’t have any friends that weren’t Jeff’s first. 

“Nope. Just Perry and Buzzy and a few other people from group. But you were looking for someone who would know the nightlife, and they’re the best bets.” Byron put his elbows on the table and leaned on them. “Perry spends a lot of time at clubs, trying to find someone to settle down with. He’s said before that he’s jealous of what Jeff and I have.” He looked down at the table and frowned. “Of what we used to have.” 

I guess Byron got distracted from his little pretend story. Jordan, who wasn’t supposed to know, looked over at me. “Used to have?” he asked, tentatively. 

I thought Jordan’s acting was pretty good, but I guess Byron knew him too well. Either that or he knew _me_ too well. “Oh, cut the crap,” he said, slightly irritably. “Like Adam didn’t tell you right after he found out.” 

Jordan’s face fell. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I heard.” 

I looked down at the ground as Byron gave me a dirty look. “I knew he couldn’t keep that a secret.” 

“I told you, man,” I said, still looking at the ground, “that you should have told him yourself.” Byron pulled his knees up toward his chest, but didn’t say a word. “Look, Byron, I’m just…well, I’m worried about you. You said that you missed him, even though he did what he did.” 

Jordan was genuinely confused. “What did Jeff do to you?” he asked, looking concerned. 

Byron looked down into his knees. “There was this girl,” he muttered, but we caught it anyway. 

I shook my head sympathetically, but Jordan was horrified. “A…girl?” 

“Yeah. You remember that Jeff is bisexual, right? Before me, there were only girls.” 

I put down my empty cup of coffee. “Look Byron, I don’t see how that makes any difference. He still cheated on you. I know he’s an old friend…one of my oldest friends. But you’re my brother. Part of me just wants to kill him for hurting you. In fact,” I said, and Byron finally looked up, “let’s go hunt him down now. We’ve got a couple hours before dinner, right? Jordan, you in?” 

Jordan gave me a look. “Is everything okay?” he asked Byron. 

Byron shrugged, putting his head back on his knees. “I dunno. I mean, I’m surviving. I don’t need to go to therapy or anything. But…” 

“But what?” I asked. “This had better not be about sex again.” 

He snorted into his jeans. “You brought that up, Adam, not me.” He didn’t respond for another moment. “It’s not about sex. It’s more practical than that. I mean…well, my phone and internet got disconnected because I couldn’t afford to pay the bill. And I don’t have the money for rent next month. You guys were making fun of my cereal this morning? Well, those groceries I brought home yesterday have to last me until the end of the month.” 

Jordan and I glanced at each other. We both understood having to tighten our belts, but I’d never had to survive on two packs of baloney and two loaves of bread for a month. That’s the good thing about living in the dorms or the frat house—everything gets paid out of student loans at the beginning of the semester and you never have to think about it again. Byron had to live off campus in order to have residency, but he did get money to help pay his rent. I could see, though, how it wouldn’t be enough to pay all his bills, especially because he’d budgeted on him and Jeff pooling their funds. 

Jordan nudged my thigh with his knee and I looked at him. He raised his eyebrows and tipped his head slightly toward Byron, and I understood: he wanted to do something to help Byron out. I nodded subtly. I didn’t exactly have the money to pay Byron’s rent or anything, but the least we could do was pay for his dinner that night, and get him into the bar and pay for his drinks. Jordan, I found out later, was thinking more practically. He wanted to buy Byron some healthier food and maybe see about getting his phone reconnected. 

Byron was still looking down at his knees. “Okay if we head back to my place?” he asked. 

We did just that. Byron, who was used to sleeping in the afternoon and working nights, went to go take a nap. “Wake me up at six-thirty,” he requested. He left his keys and wallet sitting on the counter next to the door. Jordan grabbed the keys and gestured to me. I followed him out the door. We found a grocery store and stocked Byron’s pantry and fridge. Jordan paid for the groceries, and I bought a gift card. When we got back to Byron’s place, we put the groceries away and I slid the gift card into the back of his wallet. 

While we were in the grocery store, we’d formulated the next move in our plan. We’d planned to enact it when we got back, but we didn’t for two different reasons. First, the walls were paper thin, and we were afraid that Byron wasn’t actually asleep. Second, by the time we located a store, hauled all the groceries from the store back to Byron’s building, disengaged ourselves from Mrs. Metzsky (who saw us coming and wanted to chat), climbed three flights of stairs, picked cans of vegetables off the floor when one of the bags broke, and put everything away, it was nearly six-fifteen. 

We woke Byron a few minutes later. He rolled groggily out of bed, wearing just his underclothes, and wandered into the bathroom. When he came back out, he sat down, still unclothed, in his favorite chair. Jordan and I plopped down on the couch, watching him seriously. We sat silently for a moment, before Jordan spoke. “So…what’s the plan for tonight?” 

Byron yawned. “We’re having dinner at the Cheese Board Collective. It’s a pizza place, and they only sell one kind of pizza each day. I forgot to check to see that the pie of the day is. If it’s not something you two are interested in, then we can go to a more traditional pizza place, but you have to see the Cheese Board. It’s a Berkeley sight.” I nodded at him, urging him to go on. “Perry’s meeting us there when they close. Where we go after that—and what we do—is all up to him. He’s twenty-three, and he’s been at SFSU for two years now, going to the nightlife all that time. I’m sure he’ll find us something…suitable.” 

I had to laugh. It looked more like Byron was talking about his own funeral than a night out on the town. “Oh, come on, Byron,” I said. “How long have you known Perry? Do you really think he’s going to take you to the craziest, wildest place he knows?” 

Byron shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “I guess not,” he said after a pause. “My real problem is that, since I don’t know what we’re doing, I don’t know what to wear.” 

I was reminded sharply of spring break my senior year of high school—almost exactly three years before—when Byron had said the same thing and Jeff had directed him in dressing for a night out. Either Byron had forgotten that, or he didn’t want to think about it. “Come on,” Jordan said, taking pity on him. I could tell by the look on Jordan’s face that he was thinking the same thing I was. “Let’s find you something to wear.” The two of them stood, but Jordan stopped before they hit the bedroom. “Do you have any music in this place?” he asked Byron. “It’s always more fun to get ready to go out when you play music.” 

“Sure,” Byron replied as he disappeared into his bedroom. “On my laptop, although I’m not sure how much you guys will like my musical tastes. Jeff always says…” He reappeared in the doorway, wincing as he realized what he’d just said. “Jeff always said that I needed to be schooled in the difference between decent music and crap.” Jordan put a hand on Byron’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off. “It’s over on my desk, all plugged in. Password is…” Byron made another face, this one embarrassed. “Password is cunnilingus. Blame Jeff; I asked him to come up with a password that my friends would never guess.” 

I chuckled as my brothers went to Byron’s closet. I could hear Jordan passing judgment on the clothes as I opened the computer and ITunes. “Oh, my God,” he said dramatically. He sounded a little bit like Haley. “How many sweater vests do you own, Byron?” 

Most of Byron’s music had been added when he wasn’t connected to the internet, so his songs were largely called “Track 7” and so on. It made determining whether I liked his music or not difficult. I pulled up his most-played songs and started listening to snippets at a low volume. Between songs that Byron had loved for years (which were actually labeled with the song name, and which I knew from our teen years) was a litany of depressing break-up music. 

“There!” I heard Jordan exclaim. “You do have some normal clothing. I knew you had it in you.” He headed back into the living room, a clean pair of jeans and shirt in his hands, closing the door behind him. “Man was not meant to wear that many sweater vests,” he said in a low voice, shaking his head. “Or any sweater vests, for that matter.” 

Normally I would have agreed with him, but instead I just gestured him over to me. “Get a listen to this,” I said, turning on the top song on Byron’s song list. 

“Oh, my God,” Jordan said after a minute. While he’d sounded like a drama queen last time he said the same thing, this time he seemed more concerned and confused. “What the fuck is that? Coldplay?” 

“Yeah,” I said. “Last year, when my friend Lenny’s girlfriend broke up with him, he went out and found a list of the most depressing breakup songs of all time, kind of as a joke. He never bought any of them or anything. This song was at the top of the list.” 

Jordan winced. “Guess we really do need to follow through on step two of our plan,” he said seriously. 

Before we could scheme any more, Byron popped out of his bedroom and I hit the mute button. He was wearing the same pair of jeans he’d been wearing earlier with a navy t-shirt, tight enough to show off some muscles. Even though it didn’t look that much different than what he’d been wearing earlier (he had not been wearing a sweater vest today, although he had the night before), he seemed kind of ill at ease. I wasn’t sure if it was the change of clothes or the evening’s plans. “I thought you were going to put on some music, Adam,” he said, oblivious to the looks Jordan and I were giving each other. 

“I was,” I said faux-lightly, “but I couldn’t exactly determine which of the ‘Track twos’ would be the best for getting ready.” 

“Sorry about that,” Byron said, rubbing at his head. He was going to need to fix his hair before we went out; he had the _bad_ kind of bedhead. “Try going to the playlists. All of the music is arranged there by album. It was easier than trying to go through and rename everything.” He headed toward the bathroom. “Or you can try one of my actual playlists if you see anything you like.” 

Jordan headed into the bedroom to get changed while I continued to play around with the ITunes. To my surprise, I actually found he had a couple of albums that I did like. I started up _Return to Cookie Mountain_ and cranked the volume up. From within the bedroom, Jordan shouted, “Hell yeah!” so I guess I made a good choice. 

Byron returned from the bathroom, his hair decent again. “You know,” he said brightly, “I’ve heard this album probably a dozen times, but I still have no idea what the fuck the songs are about.” 

“You’re not supposed to understand it,” I told him, dead serious. “I bet the only time this makes sense to anyone is when they’re high.” 

“Let’s not find out,” he said wryly. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. I followed him, locating the bottle of flat champagne. I intended to do a little pre-drinking. “Aren’t you going to get dressed, Adam?” 

“What for?” I asked. I thought I was fine as I was. My clothes are sharper than my brothers’—not as tight as I wore them back in high school, but more stylish than Jordan, who still mostly went for the shlub look, or Byron, who obviously thought sweater vests were the height of cool. 

“Oh, come on, Adam!” Jordan said as he came out of the bedroom, wearing a green and blue striped rugby shirt. “Don’t you want to pick up a guy, or maybe a lesbian?” 

He was only kidding, but I gave him a death glare. “I have a girlfriend, in case you forgot,” I reminded him. 

“Oh, yeah,” Jordan said. He grinned at Byron, who returned a small smile. “I forgot all about your imaginary girlfriend,” he added as he turned back to me. “What’s her name again?” 

“Priya Singh,” I replied, a little irritated at his attitude. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my phone. I flipped through the photos until I found the one I was looking for. It was me and Priya at the Kapp house. She was wearing a flapper costume and I was appropriately dressed as a 1920s gentleman (although no one would ever call me that.) “She’s a sophomore.” 

I passed the phone to Jordan, who looked the photo over. “Nice,” he said, although I wasn’t sure if he was referring to Priya’s looks or the costumes. “I think this is the first time you’ve ever dated a younger woman,” he mused as he passed the phone on to Byron to look at. I shrugged. It was pretty much true. “What’s she studying?” 

“Veterinary science.” 

“Good-looking _and_ smart,” Jordan commented as Byron peered at the photo. He smiled weakly, the relationship talk apparently getting to him. He passed the phone back to me and I closed out the photos. “You know,” Jordan went on, “I think this is the first time we’ve ever had a girlfriend at the same time.” 

“No, it’s not,” I said. Jordan gave me a blank look. “Remember Tiffany Kilbourne?” I don’t know how he could forget her; we’d both gone to Little Adam’s second birthday party that January. “Besides, you don’t have a girlfriend,” I corrected. “You have a fiancée.” 

Jordan’s eyes lit up. “Wow,” he said breathily. “A fiancée.” I could tell the idea hadn’t occurred to him before. He stood next to one of the empty chairs by Byron’s dinette and gestured to it. “Have you met my fiancée? This is my fiancée, Haley.” 

I rolled my eyes at him and took the champagne bottle and the cups from the night before and sat down in the seat where the imaginary-Haley had been sitting just a moment before. “Want some champagne, Jordan?” 

He didn’t come out of his dreamland completely, but he did shake himself and lose enough stars from his eyes to answer the question. “What for? Like you said, champagne is swill, plus it’s probably flat by now.” 

I didn’t argue with him or even comment on that. None for him meant more for me. My brothers watched me as I finished off the bottle. “Are you ready to go now?” Byron asked. 

“Yup.” We followed him out the door and down the stairs. 

It was kind of a walk to the Cheese Board, something that Byron was apologetic about. “Normally, I’d ride my bike over here,” he said. It ended up being worth the wait, though, when we got into the place and saw the crazy long line. 

The pizza selection that evening was interesting and involved pears. Jordan saw that and tried to take Byron up on his offer to go to a more traditional pizza place, but I stopped him. “Come on, man. Live a little.” Byron grinned at me and we each grabbed one of Jordan’s arms and dragged him to join the line. 

We got a full pizza and I paid for it. Byron and I each grabbed a slice and dug straight in. After a minute, I stopped and watched Jordan, who was playing with his fork. “Seriously, dude. It’s really good.” I plopped a slice down on his plate. “Don’t make me spoon feed it to you.” 

Jordan did end up eating some pizza, although he didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as we did. (I really think he was just being a big baby about it.) We took our time eating and left just as they closed. A very normal guy—average weight, average height, nondescript features—wearing funky thrift store clothes stood outside the door, playing with a cigarette and looking bored. I knew he must be Perry because when I led my brothers out the door, he stood up straight and stared. “Holy shit,” he said after Byron and Jordan made it outside, “I know you said you were identical, but I didn’t believe it until I saw it.” 

Byron chuckled lightly. “Hey, Per,” he said. He leaned over and the two of them kissed each other on the cheek. 

“Hey, By,” Perry responded casually. He looked over at Jordan and me and grinned. “Don’t worry, you two,” he said. “I don’t kiss on the first date.” 

“Perry, these are my brothers. This is Jordan in the blue and green and Adam in the black. Guys, this is Perry Blankenship.” 

Various greetings were exchanged back and forth. Perry took the cigarette—which was unlit and appeared to be more of a prop than anything else—and stuck it in his pocket. “So, you guys are twenty-one today?” he asked. We nodded. “Great. The place we’re going to isn’t super expensive or exclusive, but they _do_ check ID. I know people there so I can get us in at a discount.” 

Perry hailed a cab and the four of us climbed in, squished together in the back seat. Byron was practically in Perry’s lap. The cab took us back to San Francisco, to a main street filled with clubs and bars and other nightlife. We actually swung off the main drag onto a side street, where the cab dropped us off in front of a door that looked like it led to some upstairs apartments. Instead, Perry led us through the door to a second set of doors a short distance away; this was clearly a bar, one that the owners didn’t want everyone in existence to know about. 

Perry greeted the bouncer by name. My brothers and I pulled out our IDs for inspection. “Oh,” the bouncer said with a grin. “All three of you celebrating a twenty-first birthday, I see. Are you triplets?” 

“No,” I answered smoothly. “We’re actually three of a set of quadruplets, but our other brother is lame, so we left him at home.” 

The bouncer laughed. “Okay, smart-mouth. You and your brothers can get in for free tonight.” Perry paid the bouncer a small amount and my brothers and I got our first look at a gay bar. 

Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting. The place—I still didn’t know its name—looked just like any other tavern out there. The only difference was that everyone inside, except the bartender, was a guy. Perry wandered off to say hello to some friends of his, but we stood just inside the door, waiting to see what he did next. Jordan looked excited, and I knew why: his first _legal_ drink! This was the first time we were actually going to be able to pick out whatever we wanted and order it ourselves. Byron, on the other hand, looked extremely nervous. Honestly, though, I hadn’t expected any less out of him. “Mellow out, man,” I whispered. 

He shook his head, a little spastically. “Yeah, right,” he replied. I looked over at him and we both grinned. He actually did relax a little, too. 

Perry found us a table and gestured us over. “Buzzy said he would be here by now, but you know how he is.” That statement really only made sense if he was talking directly to Byron, but he was addressing the table as a whole. “He may be here in an hour, or he may find a guy and go home with him instead.” He looked over toward the bartender. Apparently, this was one of those establishments where you go up to the bar and order your drinks instead of one where a waiter came to you. “What are you guys drinking? First round is on me. Better yet, any round when you convince Byron to drink with you is on me.” 

“Then the first round is on you,” Byron said definitively. Perry rolled his eyes. “I know what’s going to happen here. You’re going to try to get me wasted so you can take pictures and post everything on your MyFriends. Well, it’s not going to happen!” 

“Oh, really?” Perry said. He had a gleam in his eye that scared me…and I didn’t even know the guy. “Adam, Jordan, what are you two having?” 

Jordan shrugged. He usually just drinks beer, but he wanted to be more adventurous. “Surprise me.” 

I nodded. “That sounds fine. If you’re buying, you pick it out,” I said. 

He was back in a flash with three rum and Cokes and a tall glass that he plopped down with a flourish in front of Byron. “What the hell is this?” my brother asked suspiciously. 

“It’s like iced tea.” 

“Oh,” I said, leaning in over the glass. “Long Island iced tea?” Perry nodded and Jordan and I started laughing. 

Byron turned to each one of us in turn. “What are you not telling me here?” he asked as he picked up his drink and inspected it. 

“Oh, nothing,” I said. “It’s just, well, it’s a weenie drink. There’s not much alcohol in it. It’s something I could picture Haley drinking, quite frankly.” Jordan took a sip of his drink with one hand and punched me in the arm with the other, while Perry laughed into his rum. 

The two of us must have been at least a little bit convincing, because Byron picked the cup up and took a big gulp, then nearly spit it back out. “What is in this?” he asked, making a horrible face. 

“Better you don’t know,” Perry said. Byron looked at the drink, shrugged, and took another sip. “Easy, there, tiger. If you’re only going to have one drink, make it last all night.” He winked at me and I shook my head. This was going to be interesting. 

“So…” Perry said, and he turned to us, setting his drink aside for the moment. “I understand you two are straight. What’s that like?” Byron broke out laughing, but Jordan and I just looked at each other, not sure how serious Perry was. “Seriously, though,” he continued after a minute. “Ever since By here told me he was a triplet, I’ve wondered how that worked. You three have the same DNA. How can you two be straight while he’s gay?” 

All three of us looked down. I know I’ve had that thought before and I’m pretty sure both of my brothers have, too. “I don’t know,” Jordan said uncomfortably after a moment. “I just know that we are what we are. We don’t have the same taste in music—most of the time—or television shows or movies. Why should this be any different?” 

Perry nodded seriously but by then I’d figured out he was messing with our heads. Jordan figured it out a moment later when Perry continued talking. “Are you sure you two aren’t just still in the closet? It’s okay if you are. You can be out here. We won’t tell anyone.” 

Even Jordan, who’d been deathly serious a moment before, had to smile at that. “You’re definitely barking up the wrong tree,” Byron said, sounding more relaxed now, even though there was no way the alcohol could have had an effect on him yet. “This one,” he jerked a thumb at me, “has slept with enough girls for the three of us put together, and that one,” the thumb shot the other way, toward Jordan, “just got engaged.” 

“Really?” Perry said. Jordan, still smiling, shrugged at him. “Well, I’m jealous. I hope to find someone to spend my life with one day and have one of those whirlwind romances.” 

“I don’t know if you can call this one whirlwind,” Jordan said, sounding a little bashful. “We’ve been together for three years, since we were still in high school.” 

Perry whistled. “She must be a really special girl.” 

Byron nudged him with his shoulder. “You’ve heard plenty of stories about her,” he informed Perry. 

“Haley?” he asked. Jordan nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about her. She’s got cojones, that one. If I weren’t gay…although, actually, if she’s got balls…” We all snickered for a moment. “Honestly, though, you’re a lucky guy. This calls for another round. Same drinks or something different?” 

I raised my glass to my lips and finished my drink. “How about something that sounds like it comes from a gay bar?” I asked. “They got any drink specials, or, failing that, something with a name that sounds dirty?” 

“Got it.” Perry chuckled. “By, I can’t believe you’ve drunk that much of that iced tea already. It’s not too bad, now, is it?” Byron smiled lightly; his glass was nearly empty. I guess the insinuation that there was almost no alcohol in his drink was working on him. “I’m going to get you another one of those,” Perry asserted. Byron didn’t argue. 

By the time he finished his second Long Island iced tea, I found out what kind of drunk Byron was: loud and giggly. That kind of surprised me, because I’ve been told that’s what I’m like when I’m drunk. I would have expected he’d been of those guys who becomes crabby and brooding when they drink. He wasn’t quite as chatty as Jordan, but then, who is? 

At that point, Jordan, Perry and I had sampled a Bend Over Shirley, an Adios, Motherfucker and a Redheaded Slut. “I’m ready for some shots,” I announced. “How about you guys?” 

Byron shook his head. “No, I’m only gonna have one drink,” he said. 

Jordan laughed. “You’ve already had two,” he pointed out. 

“Oh, right.” Byron looked at the empty glasses still littering our table and giggled a little. “I’m only going to do a shot if you make it worth my while,” he said, addressing Perry directly this time. Jordan raised his eyebrows; that obviously sounded like a come on to him, too. 

Perry cuffed him on the shoulder and walked off. I leaned in toward Byron. “Hey,” I said in a low voice. I wasn’t nearly as drunk as Byron was; nearly three years in a fraternity had developed my alcohol tolerance. “If you want to bring him home tonight, that’s cool. Jordan and I will give you the bedroom. One of us can sleep on the couch and the other in the sleeping bag on the floor.” 

Jordan, who was a little more inebriated than I was, but not yet to the point of being gabby, piped up, “I call ‘not the floor!’” 

“Of course you do,” I said with an eye roll. I turned back to Byron. “Just keep the noise level down okay? I’m cool with anything you do in private, as long as I don’t have to hear it.” 

Byron made a face. “He’s just a friend, Adam. I don’t have any interest in him that way.” 

“Well, then,” I said slowly, looking around the bar. “If you feel like picking up any of these other guys, the offer still stands.” 

“No, thanks,” he said. He wasn’t slurring his words, but they were a little off. It almost sounded like he couldn’t hear himself. “I don’t want a one night stand. Isn’t that the ultimate definition of tacky?” 

I felt myself blush and I looked away. How many one night stands had I had over the past couple years? Jordan, reading me properly but not sober enough to be tactful, clapped me on the shoulder. “He just called you tacky!” he exclaimed with a laugh. 

Byron looked at Jordan, trying to drunkenly follow his reasoning. We were still at that point when Perry came back empty handed. “The drinks will be along in a moment,” he said. 

Byron struggled to his feet. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom,” he said. 

“No, man,” Jordan exclaimed. “You’ll break the seal. Once you pee, you have to keep peeing all night.” 

“I’ll take my chances.” Byron looked around the room and then started one way, then the other. “Hey, where’s the bathroom in this place?” he asked, looking amused. 

Perry smiled. “That way,” he said, pointing past the bar to where a giant RESTROOM sign hung. 

“Oh, yeah.” Byron laughed like Perry had just told a joke. 

Jordan shook his head. “I better go keep an eye on him,” he said, also getting out of his chair. 

“You just need to go pee too and you don’t want to admit it,” I accused. 

“You’ll never know, will you?” Jordan said. He caught up to Byron, who was meandering and swerving around things that weren’t even vaguely in his path. Jordan threw his arm around Byron’s shoulder and the two of them walked off toward the bathroom. 

As soon as they were out of hearing range, Perry turned to me. “I should have brought my camera,” he said. I smiled at the thought of Drunken Byron photos actually being passed all over MyFriends. “I am so glad you guys convinced him to go out. Not just because I would have paid money to see this—and I would have—but because he’s been so depressed since he and Jeff split.” 

I nodded seriously. “How’s he doing?” I asked. “Really doing? I can tell he’s hurting, but for the most part, he’s really trying to hide it.” 

Perry thought about that for a moment. “When Jeff first left, he was mad. Really angry. He used some really bitchy words to describe Jeff for a while. A couple weeks later, that fizzled away and he was just sad. It’s almost like he’s mourning.” Perry sighed. “He never told me what happened between him and Jeff or why Jeff left.” 

“All I will say is that Byron kicked him out and that I would have done the same thing.” 

Perry’s brows knitted together, but I didn’t know him well enough to read his expression entirely. “I thought as much,” he replied. He picked up his almost-empty Redheaded Slut glass. “Look, Adam, your brother’s a really special guy. You don’t find too many like him out there, and I know because I’ve looked. I’d do just about anything for him.” 

And there it was. I’d had a feeling that Perry was a little more interested in Byron than Byron was in him. I just nodded again, not sure how to address what I’d just heard. On one hand, Byron really needed someone in his camp the way Perry seemed to be. On the other hand, Byron had just said he didn’t really think of Perry that way. Before I could sort that all out, Perry spoke again. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to make a move on him, especially not tonight. First off, I know he’s still on the rebound. Second, he’s going to be so drunk by the time he leaves here that you two may have to carry him up the stairs to his place. Not exactly a good way to start off a romance.” 

We were quiet after that. After a ridiculously long time (or maybe it just seemed that way because of the slightly awkward silence), my brothers returned from the bathroom. “You were gone a long time,” I said by way of greeting. “I was beginning to think you fell in.” 

Jordan was holding Byron up again, even though he seemed steadier on his feet now. “He almost did,” Jordan commented. 

Perry put one elbow on the table and leaned on it. “You nearly fell into the toilet?” he asked Byron incredulously. 

“No, Byron said as he eased his way back into his seat. “The urinal.” He and Jordan looked at each other and burst out laughing, although I wasn’t exactly sure what was so funny about that. 

I was so busy rolling my eyes at the two of them that I didn’t see the bartender come up to our table until she was standing over my shoulder. “Hey, I hear you guys are celebrating a twenty-first birthday tonight,” she said. 

As the most sober brother, I took the role of mouth piece. “That’s right.” 

The bartender climbed up on Jordan’s empty chair. “Hey, gang,” she called to the bar as a whole. “We have a set of triplets over here who are twenty-one today. Everyone give them a hand and watch them down a couple shots.” 

I had to hand it to Perry; he had found the best way to get Byron to do a shot. There was no way he’d be able to live it down if he refused to drink while the whole bar was watching. He gingerly picked up his Slippery Nipple like it would burn him if it spilled. Jordan watched him with a smirk and then raised his own shot glass. I grinned at both of my brothers and then the three of us tipped the glasses into our mouths. 

*** 

We were about three shots in when Buzzy finally showed up. He was exactly as Byron described him, and yet somehow I’d underestimated how flamboyant he was going to be. I’ll admit to no longer being even close to sober by that point, though. Shortly thereafter, while Buzzy was telling us how his ex-boyfriend was stalking him by showing up in every bar and club in town, Byron actually fell asleep with his head on Perry’s shoulder. 

Buzzy, who didn’t actually drink anything at the bar, gave the rest of us a ride home. He waited outside, double parked, as Perry helped me pull Byron up the stairs. He was awake again and being slightly belligerent. “Come on, honey-bunny,” Perry said soothingly. He’s the only person in the world outside of (possibly) my mother who would ever consider calling Byron that. “I need to you to climb just a couple more stairs.” 

“I don’t wanna,” Byron said stubbornly. “I’m just gonna stop and sleep here tonight.” 

“No, baby, you’re not,” Perry continued. “If you do that in this neighborhood, you’ll get robbed, raped and murdered. Possibly not in that order.” 

And where was Jordan during all of this? He was crawling the stairs behind us, dizzy and nauseous. “Why did I drink so much?” he asked me. 

“Because it was our twenty-first birthday,” I answered as if he were serious. 

Jordan was the only one of us to throw up. Perry settled Byron onto the couch—we figured it would be better if he did wake up and felt sick—and I covered him with a throw blanket I found in Byron’s closet. Perry kissed Byron’s cheek like he had when we’d first met him. “Happy birthday, By,” he said softly, even though Byron was already asleep again. “I hope it was a good one.” 

Perry turned to me. “It was good meeting you, Adam,” he said. “I’m on MyFriends under the name ‘Searching in San Francisco.’ You and Jordan should look me up.” We shook hands. “When he’s finished emptying his stomach, tell him I said bye.” 

I locked the door behind Perry and dug around in Byron’s cabinets for a few minutes. I found three reusable water bottles and filled them all with water. I left one on the end table by Byron’s head and had just put the other two in the bedroom when Jordan emerged, groaning, from the bathroom. “Well, that was a birthday I won’t ever forget,” he said, his voice husky. 

“That is,” I said, almost joking, “if you even remember it tomorrow.” 

Jordan led the way into the bedroom and spotted the water bottle I had left next to the bed. He took a tentative sip and made a face. “Hey, I gotta get this type of behavior out now, before I’m a married man.” He gulped air for a moment, looking a little green, but shook it off. “Adam, can I ask you something?” 

“If it’s about you and Haley, then no.” 

He ignored that. “Will you be my best man?” 

I sat down on the bed. “You want me to be your best man?” I repeated. “What about Byron?” I didn’t think it was fair for Jordan to pick me over our other brother. I knew there was a time when he wouldn’t have even asked Byron to be in his wedding party, but that was a long time ago. 

He smiled drowsily. “Haley wants him to be her…what did she call it? Oh yeah. Man of honor.” 

I thought that through for a minute. “Oh, man of honor, like maid of honor. She wants him to be _her_ best man.” 

“Right.” 

Jordan stretched out on the bed. He was still fully dressed and on top of the covers. He closed his eyes and I was afraid he would fall asleep before I answered him. “Of course I’ll you be your best man, you jackass.” 

Jordan rolled over and smiled. “Thanks, shithead,” he replied. I climbed under the covers next to him, feeling like we were both sixteen again. 

*** 

I set an alarm on my cell phone before we went to sleep to make sure Jordan and I could be up and out early enough to make our flights. When it went off, neither Jordan nor I wanted to get out of bed. “Come on,” I insisted groggily to Jordan. My head was pounding and I just wanted an aspirin. “Not only do we have to make sure we catch our planes, but we also need to finish our plans.” 

“Plans?” came the muffled reply from underneath the pillow. 

“You know. We filled Byron’s pantry yesterday. Today we have something else we need to do for him.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Jordan removed the pillow from his head. “Are you going to need a shower this morning?” he asked as he struggled to sit upright. 

“Yeah, but you go ahead. I’m going to see if I can’t find some drugs for this hangover.” I put my hand to my head. “I have a feeling we’re all going to need them.” 

“I actually don’t feel that bad,” Jordan observed as he gathered his toiletries and clothes. 

“That’s because you barfed all the alcohol back up.” I stole into the bathroom and checked the medicine cabinet. It was empty of medicines and full of grooming products. I left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen, figuring Byron might keep things next to the sink. I found vitamins—lots and lots of vitamins, but nothing else. 

Jordan snuck up behind me. “Any luck?” he asked. “I decided I might want some aspirin after all.” 

“Nope. Hurry up and take your shower. Once we’re both clean, we’ll go to that Walgreens we saw yesterday. And remember that bakery? I may be hungover, but that doesn’t stop me from craving a cinnamon roll.” 

Knowing we didn’t have that much time, we both took short showers: enough to wash off the smell of the bar and prepare us for another set of long flights. While Jordan was in the bathroom, I checked on Byron. He didn’t appear to have moved all night, but he was still breathing. Jordan reappeared and saw what I was doing. “He’s gonna be feelin’ in later when he wakes up,” he noted. 

I chuckled. “Two Long Island iced teas and three shots would knock anyone off their feet,” I agreed. 

We left Byron’s apartment quietly and split up. I bought extra strength Tylenol and Alka-Seltzer while Jordan found the ooey-est, gooey-est cinnamon rolls that the bakery sold. We were back at Byron’s quickly. “Wait, stop here before we go in,” I said to Jordan as he moved to unlock the front door. He cocked his head and sat on the stoop, watching me. I slapped my pockets for a few seconds before I realized that I had left my cell phone in my other pants. “Hey, you got Haley’s phone?” I asked Jordan. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. “What are you doing?” he replied. 

I opened the phone and powered it up. Finding her contacts, I scrolled through them. “Haley’s got a lot of friends,” I commented. 

“That’s my girl,” Jordan replied. “Looking for something in particular?” 

“Yeah, Jeff’s number.” 

“Right.” 

I finally located Jeff’s number and hit send. I must have woken him up, because he didn’t answer right away. When he finally did, he sounded drowsy. “Haley? Everything okay?” he asked. 

“This isn’t Haley,” I replied, unnecessarily. 

“Jordan?” 

“No, it’s Adam.” 

“Adam?” He was finally starting to sound lucid. “How did you get ahold of Haley’s cell phone?” 

“Jordan and I are in Berkeley right now. Triplet weekend?” I reminded him. 

“Oh, yeah,” he replied laconically. “This weekend was the big two-one. How’s it feel to finally be legal?” 

“Anti-climactic.” He chuckled. “Listen, Jeff, I didn’t call about that. It’s about Byron.” 

Jeff became so quiet that I had to double check and make sure the call hadn’t disconnected. “How’s he doing?” he finally asked in a small voice. 

“He’s been better.” Jeff sighed dramatically. “First off, he’s surviving on baloney and ramen noodles, and his phone has been cut off.” 

“Ohhhh,” Jeff said, and he sounded as if someone had stabbed him. “I was afraid of that. I tried to call about a week ago and couldn’t get through.” 

I sat down on the stoop next to Jordan, who had his eyes closed, his head on his shoulder. He looked like he was sleeping sitting up, but I knew he was hearing everything. “I don’t know what your situation is like,” I continued to Jeff, “but if there is any way you could help him out a little bit, I think that would only be fair, given the circumstances.” 

“So you know all about what happened between us, then?” he asked quietly. 

“Enough,” I replied, trying to remain casual. 

Jeff sighed again. “Well, I’m staying on a friend’s couch and paying him $100 a month for that privilege, so I probably could send him a few bucks here and there. Thing is, I’m not so sure he’d accept it if he knew it was coming from me.” 

“I don’t want to insinuate anything, but I don’t think he’s as angry with you as you’d expect.” 

A little bit of relief was evident in his voice. “Yes, but he’s got his pride.” 

I sighed. “You’re right about that. There’s got to be some way to get him to accept the money without hurting his pride.” 

Jordan tugged the phone out of my hand. “Hey Jeff,” he said, “I have an idea. Your name is on the lease, right? Just pay half the rent. Then when he goes to pay, he’ll only have to pay the other half.” He was silent for a moment, but then said, “Hang on.” He pushed a button on the phone. “You’re on speaker so that Adam can hear you, too. Can you repeat what you just said?” 

“I said,” Jeff continued, just a little louder than necessary. I saw the blinds flutter in Mrs. Metzsky’s apartment, but I ignored them. I honestly didn’t care if she was listening. “The phone was in my name. I can call and get that turned back on, too.” 

I breathed a sigh of relief. “That would be great. If this should ever come up in Byron’s presence, you can’t breathe a word of this to him. Especially what I’m about to say.” Jordan wrinkled his brow. “Give him some time, but don’t give up on him. I don’t think this is the end for the two of you.” 

Jeff paused again. “How is he doing? I worry about him all the time. It’s making me more of a worrier than he’s ever been.” 

“Well, he’s listening to Coldplay,” Jordan announced ruefully. “Does that give you any idea how bad it is?” 

“That _is_ serious,” Jeff replied. There was a thunk and I imagined him collapsing onto his sofa/bed dramatically. “So where is By now? I know you’re not having this conversation in front of him.” 

“He’s upstairs sleeping off a hangover,” I shared. 

“A hangover? By? Really?” 

“We got him doing shots.” 

“Oh, my God, really? He must be worse off than I thought.” Jeff took an unhappy breath and I heard it catch as he tried not to cry. “Getting drunk that night was the dumbest thing I ever did. I don’t remember anything that happened…until I woke up in some stranger’s bed. I felt so guilty and then when I came home and told Byron what happened, I was just looking for a little forgiveness.” 

“You know how Byron is,” Jordan said. “He may not constantly worry about everything anymore, but he’s got some fears deep down that you—or anyone else—could never quash. One of those is that no one will really ever like him for him.” 

“He’s right,” I added. “But like I said, I think you can overcome this. It’s going to be hard to earn back his trust, but if anyone can, it’s you.” 

Jordan and I looked at each other as Jeff sniffled a little bit. “I gotta go,” he said suddenly. I think he just didn’t want us to hear him cry. I don’t know why, because it’s not as if we’d never heard—or seen—that before. He’d cried a couple times when we were kids when he’d hurt himself or gotten really angry. And then there was that time in Maine, nearly exactly three years before, when he’d gone to pieces over the beauty of the scenery and whatever else had been bugging him. 

I handed Jordan the phone back and he took it absentmindedly. I thought he was about to comment on Jeff’s abrupt hang up, but I was wrong. “Who knew you were such a romantic?” he asked. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be campaigning for relationships.” 

“I’m not ‘campaigning for relationships,’” I replied. “I’m campaigning for Byron and Jeff. I think there are some people who are just meant to be together. The two of them, for all their faults, are right for one another. I don’t think either one of them could find someone better.” 

“So you believe in soul mates?” Jordan asked. “Sounds like a romantic idea to me.” He was still looking at me cross-eyed. 

“No, not really. What are the chances that there’s only one person out there for you? There’s six billion people in the world. Chances are that, no matter how good a match your girlfriend may be, there’s someone out there that’s a better match for you. But since you’ll never meet every person on earth, sometimes you’ve just met the best person for you that you’re going meet.” 

Jordan smiled faintly. “Like Byron and Jeff,” he said. 

“And you and Haley,” I added. His smile turned smirk-ish. “I gotta admit, you two are a good pair. Nauseating, even.” 

“I should have brought a video camera to record this historical moment.” Jordan was milking my humility for all it was worth. 

“Oh, fuck off,” I grumbled. Jordan just kept grinning. “I am sorry I gave you a hard time about getting married.” 

“You were right, though,” he replied. “It’s something Haley said, too. We’re a couple of twenty-year-olds. What do we know about anything?” 

I clapped him on the shoulder. “Enough to have stayed together for three years. How many twenty- _one_ -year-olds can say that?” 

We stood up and headed inside. 

*** 

We arrived back at Byron’s place to find the couch empty. “He must be in the bathroom,” Jordan surmised. He walked that way while I pried open the aspirin and downed twice the recommended dose. I looked up from my cup to see him furrowing his brow. “It’s empty,” he announced. 

That’s when the bedroom door opened and Byron appeared. He was moving slowly and holding one hand to his head. “Where did you guys go?” he asked, wincing in pain at the sound of his own voice. 

“To get breakfast and some painkillers,” I told him. “Why don’t you come on over and get a little of each?” 

He started to shake his head but stopped and winced again. “I don’t think I can eat anything,” he whispered. 

“You’ll feel better if you do eat,” I promised him. “If you don’t want a cinnamon bun, maybe you should eat a piece of bread or something.” 

“Why did I ever get decide to drink so much?” he groaned as he accepted a glass of water and some aspirin. 

Jordan had just finished taking some aspirin himself. “Because it’s a great temporary escape,” he suggested. 

“For those times when you want to lose all your pieces and not find all of them right away,” Byron muttered. 

“What?” 

“Something someone told me once,” he responded. “Just forget about it.” 

“It’s already forgotten,” I joked. 

“Did you even speak?” Jordan added. 

“Ha ha,” Byron growled. He flopped down on the couch. “I hope you guys enjoyed watching me make a fool of myself, because you’ll probably never see me drink again.” 

“I hope you never have reason to want to lose your pieces again,” Jordan responded gently. 

I squeezed Byron’s shoulder and he looked from me to Jordan in turn. “You know, I almost never get homesick for Connecticut or Mom and Dad’s house, or even Mom and Dad. But every time I see you guys, I feel like I’m nine again and we’re the Three Musketeers. And then I leave…or, in this case, _you_ leave…and I suddenly feel all alone. It wasn’t so bad when Jeff was here, because how can you be alone with him running around being all manic?” Jordan and I both smiled. 

“You’re tough,” I said before he could point out how lonely he was going to be when we left in less than an hour. “And even when we’re not here, we’re always with you in some ways. Like if you get the urge to join some kind of sport or activity at school, you’re channeling Jordan.” 

“Yeah,” Jordan agreed. “And if you change your mind and decide that it would be okay to have a one night stand, you’re channeling Adam.” 

I punched him in the shoulder. Byron watched the two of us questioningly; I guess he didn’t remember the comment he’d made the night before. “C’mon.” I decided I needed to change the topic before we got any sappier. “Let’s get you some breakfast.” 

*** 

Jordan and I packed up our suitcases in near silence while Byron showered and cleaned up. The year before, when the two of them had left Athens and headed back to the airport, we’d been chattier than normal to cover up the fact that none of us wanted to separate again. This time, the opposite happened. Byron walked the two of us to the bus stop, and as the bus appeared, he spoke for the first time in almost an hour. “Want me to come to the airport with you?” he asked, his hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis, his eyes on his shoes instead of us. 

Jordan drew his eyebrows together, but he didn’t answer the question. “You going to be okay, man?” he asked, punching Byron in the shoulder gently. 

I didn’t wait for him to reply. “Of course he is,” I stated. “He’s a Pike, isn’t he? We’re made of the tough stuff. Rough patches only make us stronger.” 

Byron finally looked up from the ground and put his hand out. The three of us made a pile of hands, his other hand on top. Somehow, whenever we did this gesture—which happened at least once every time we were together again—his hands were the base and the top of the pile. As much as Jordan and I considered each other our best friend, it was Byron who corralled the three of us together. Seeing him so unhappy was hard for us, but we knew this would pass. Time would go on, his grief would diminish, and he’d even find a new boyfriend. Until then, we’d have to stay in better touch. He was going to need someone. 

Jordan and I climbed on the bus, having declined Byron’s offer to come with us. What was the sense in having him pay all that money to ride out to Oakland only to turn around and pay it for the ride back? Besides, it was obvious he’d only asked out of politeness. Byron stood on the corner watching as the bus pulled away. Jordan and I pressed against the window until he was out of sight. To the rest of the world, Byron looked like any other twenty-one year old guy in a sweater vest (although I don’t know how many other twenty-one year old guys in sweater vests you could find), but as the bus turned a corner, the way his shoulders slumped told me that he was going to go home and have a good cry. 

Jordan sat down in his seat and put his feet up on the empty seat in front of him. “You know this is only going to get worse as we get older,” he said to his feet, rather than to me. 

I was still watching the street behind us as we headed out of Berkeley. “What is?” I finally asked as I sat down next to him with one foot pulled up underneath me. 

“Going our own way,” he explained, turning toward me. On the way to Byron’s, he’d been listening to headphones the whole time, but now that we were getting ready to separate again, he wanted to have a Serious Talk. “We’re just going to keep getting farther apart, you know. In a couple years, you’ll be working, and God knows where you’ll end up. Byron will be finishing up grad school, and who knows where _he’ll_ end up. And Haley and I will be…” 

“…married,” I completed his thought. Apparently, this engagement was so new to him still that he problems with all the words. If he weren’t being so serious, it would have been funny. “I get it, Jordan. I just don’t think it will be as big of a problem as you think it will. Once we’re not poor students anymore, we’ll be able to take as many of these weekend trips as we want.” 

“True,” he agreed, “but we’re going to have other responsibilities. Mortgages and car payments and whatnot. I’m going to have to work a lot of weekends, and eventually, Haley and I want kids. I’m sure she’d be thrilled if I just up and left her alone with them for the weekend.” 

I sighed. Jobs, marriage, kids, mortgages…I wasn’t ready for any of it. “Ever have moments when you sit back and think, ‘I am so not prepared to be an adult’?” 

“All the time, man.” Jordan slumped just a little bit. “I know you think I’m nuts for getting married. And half the time, so do I. I’m scared to death. What if it’s too soon and we can’t make it work?” 

“You’ll make it work,” I insisted. “I wasn’t kidding when I said us Pikes were tough. We can make it through everything…even if we have to go longer times without seeing each other.” 

Jordan closed his eyes, and I curled up in a ball in my own seat. The two of us snoozed the entire rest of the way back to the airport, restlessly thinking about our futures as adults and how frightening the lack of certainty was.


	2. Triangle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byron was the guy who never expected anyone to like him for him. So how did he end up with not one but _two_ men chasing after him?

_And I was thinking maybe later on_  
_We could get together for a while_  
_It’s been such a long time_  
_And I really do miss your smile_  
England Dan  & John Ford Coley, I’d Really Love to See You Tonight

**Jeff**

My phone rang early one afternoon in early August. I had just gotten back from a visit with my Dad the day before and had celebrated starting my senior year of college and my upcoming birthday with an extremely late night. I’d showered and gotten dressed well after noon and then climbed back onto my couch to take a nap. I was going to start student teaching in a couple of weeks, so I figured I had to get all of my slacker instincts out before then. I’d originally intended to ignore the call, but I glanced at the screen and nearly fell out of bed. 

The caller ID said ‘Home.’ 

I’d only lived there for six months, but when I was there, that’s how it had felt. I’d just never gotten a chance to—never wanted to—change it. It was now almost six months since I’d moved out—been kicked out. I’d spent the first several months anxiously _waiting_ for this call. 

I was basically still one big open wound. 

When the phone rang, my heart leapt and so did my body. It took me long enough to answer that his call nearly went to voicemail. “Hello,” I finally gasped, sounding a lot like my preteen sister when she’s overly excited. 

“Hello to you too,” Byron responded. He seemed amused, which was not a word I’d used to describe his voice when he was talking to me for a long time. _Angry, frustrated, depressed_ , and even _relieved_ …sure. But not _amused_. “I need your help.” 

I’d imagined this call for a long time. _I need you. Can you be over here in ten minutes?_ “Anything. What can I do for you?” 

“Have you worked out a living arrangement for next year? I’m moving out of the apartment and was wondering if you needed any of the furniture.” 

The little balloon of hope that had been inflating ever since I’d seen the caller ID deflated instantly. “Um,” I started, momentarily lost. That was _our_ apartment. How could he leave it behind so easily? “I’m moving into the dorms,” I finally explained. “Room’s fully furnished. I figured everyone should experience the dorms at least once in college.” Actually, I’d signed up for dorm life as soon as I’d accepted the fact that By and I weren’t going to be sharing a bed again anytime soon. 

“Oh,” he said slowly, in a voice that told me he was mulling options. “Well, I was kind of hoping we could divide the furniture up, then. That way you could figure out what you were going to do with _your_ stuff and I’d have less to store. I’m going to be in Mel and Charlie’s spare room, so I really don’t need the couch or the dinette or any of that. The less I have to store, the smaller the storage space, the cheaper I can work it out.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, By,” I insisted. “My dad can store stuff for you.” He sighed, clearly relieved. Not having to rent a storage space meant more money for food and other expenses. “When are you moving? I’ll arrange a time for my dad to come up and the three of us can haul everything out.” I didn’t say anything about dividing it. It was _our_ furniture, bought with our shared money. If we started playing yours and mine, I’d really have to accept that this was over. Really, truly over. And I wasn’t ready to do that. 

The two of us worked out a couple of possible dates and I promised to check with my father. Dad liked Byron a lot—some days, more than he liked me. I knew that he’d be glad to help out in any way he could. By and I exchanged a couple of polite pleasantries and then he had to go to work. I turned my phone off entirely and lay back on the couch, but there was no way I was going to be able to sleep now. I was building expectations for that meeting. We’d see each other, work together to move the furniture around, do some light flirting and promise to stay in better touch. By the time we graduated next year, we’d be making plans to move in together again. 

I shook myself. Even I knew how ridiculous that all sounded. I never really went for fiction until Byron and I broke up. I started dreaming, both asleep and awake, about getting back together. I’d started writing lists of bold romantic moves I could pull if ever gave me the time of day again. 

Now that he’d actually reached out (out of practical need rather than any urge for, well, me), I realized that maybe I should have done these things _before_ he broke up with me. And, you know, not cheated on him. 

It was too late to go back and fix that. But maybe I could do some things to fix the future. 

I went back to dreaming. 

*** 

After Byron had thrown me out, I’d spent a long time lost. _Depression_ didn’t even begin to describe the funk I found myself in. Part of the problem was the fact that I do not bounce back well. Whenever a couple breaks up—especially when the end is unhappy and the words unpleasant—friends always feel as if they have to pick sides. It is possible to stay friends with both parties, but when it comes to extending invitations, the realization comes up: _We can’t invite both Byron and Jeff. It’ll either be super awkward, or neither one of them will show up because they want to avoid making it super awkward._ Thus people gravitate to one side or the other. 

I wasn’t surprised that most of my friends chose the other side. Byron has always been steadier, more even keeled. Through the last few years, he’d softened his overemotional responses to stimuli and had amassed a group of extremely loyal friends for any purpose. Need a study group? By had you covered. Want to stay up late watching and making fun of bad movies? He had friends for that. He had a friend group for everything. 

But he really only had a few friends he was really close to, the kind that knew all the details about why we’d broken up. Unfortunately for me, those three people were the friends to whom I’d also done most of my confiding. Charlie, By’s soon-to-be-roommate, and his girlfriend Mel were the type of non-judgmental people who made extremely good listeners. And Perry always had solid advice, no matter how monumentally idiotic a mistake I’d made. When I’d first been homeless after By kicked me out, Perry had let me crash on his floor in a sleeping bag for a few nights. But as time had gone by, Perry and I had spent less and less time together. It was a mutual friend—and my roommate for the past few months—who had pointed out that was because Perry had become By’s biggest supporter, his cheering section. The role I’d had before that. 

I needed someone to talk to, someone who could put this By thing in perspective. In the past, when he and I were fighting, I’d always called the person who, outside of myself, knew him best. Unlike By, who refused to get involved in his best friends’ relationships, Haley had always been willing—and sometimes, overly enthusiastic—about butting into ours. But this was different. I hadn’t actually spoken to Hay since February, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear from her again. Like I said, it was natural for friends to take sides during a breakup. Of course Hay was going to take By’s side; she’s not his “bestie” for nothing. 

I scrolled through my phone for ten minutes or so before I realized that the perfect person to call should have hit me right away. Who better to give you love advice than your big sister? I had two older sisters, and one of them was an ocean away. The other had recently gotten her master’s degree and was now a licensed therapist. I checked the time on the East Coast and realized she should have just gotten home from work a short time ago, so I hit dial. 

The phone picked up right away. “Hello?” a deep male voice answered. 

I stupidly had to shake myself for a minute before I placed him. “Pete?” I asked, confused. “Sorry. I thought I called Mary Anne’s cell phone.” 

“Hey, Jeff,” my brother-in-law answered in greeting. “You did; sorry to confuse you. She’s actually in the shower, so when I saw it was you, I decided to pick up in case it was an emergency.” 

“No, no emergency,” I assured him. “Can you just have her call me when she’s got ten minutes to spare?” 

“No problem.” Pete was having an easygoing, laidback moment. I could actually picture him coming home from his job in mortgage lending, taking off his jacket and tie and undoing his top button, then turning on and watching ‘the game’ while waiting for Mary Anne to get out of the shower. According to her, it wasn’t often like that. “Anything I can help you with?” 

I considered that. “Are you up for helping me deconstruct a conversation with my ex, searching for hidden meanings?” 

He stopped, genuinely surprised. “No offense, but not really,” he finally sputtered. 

I laughed at his seriousness. “I didn’t expect you to say yes,” I shared. “Hell, my description made me sound like a twelve year old girl.” 

Pete sighed in relief. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do you for you, okay?” he continued earnestly. “Guy to guy.” 

“Thanks, Pete. That means a lot.” And it did. I didn’t have a lot of relatives in the grand scheme of things—not like By or Hay, who had family trees full of aunts and uncles and cousins to tells stories about. I had three sisters and two sets of parents to stand beside me, but it was nice to have Pete there to give non-parental guy advice. 

The two of us said goodbye and hung up. I turned on the television, catching the beginning of a game between two baseball teams I couldn’t give two shits about. I wondered, briefly, whether it was the same thing that Pete was watching as he kicked off his shoes. Pete was, randomly, a Baltimore Orioles fan. I myself was a life-long Dodgers fan, but when they weren’t playing I rooted for the Cubs, although that was something I’d never told anyone. I’m sure not even By would remember his assertion that he was going to start following the Chicago Cubs because they were a ‘lost cause’ team with no hope of ever winning the World Series, but I’d never forgotten it. 

I’d just started to get into the game when my phone rang. _Mary Anne_. “Hello?” 

“Hey, Jeff.” Mary Anne had her Extremely Serious Voice on, the one I imagined she used with her clients. “Pete said you called. Something about ‘deconstructing the ex?’” She relaxed a little and chuckled. “I love him, but he’s really bad at relaying messages.” I had to agree with that one. Heck, once he forgot to tell Mary Anne I’d called for nearly a week. I was just starting to get mad at her when she finally learned I’d wanted to speak with her at all. “So, is this about Byron again, or is it really about you?” 

“He called,” I announced grandly, as if this were Really Big News. 

“Oh?” 

Oh. That’s all she said. That must be the first thing they teach at therapist school, because my psychologist does the same thing. “Yup. Let me relay the conversation for you, word for word.” I repeated everything the best I could remember. “What do you think?” 

Mary Anne’s voice remained even and steady. “Well, first off, I think your retelling of this says a lot more about you than it does about him,” she said. 

“And does it say that I’m not over him at all?” I asked, trying not to be sarcastic and failing miserably. Mary Anne and I had a lot of talks since I’d broken up with Byron. She’d turned out to be a rock, willing to listen to me whine and admit all my missteps. Hell, she even confided her problems with Pete in me, and I could tell she’d been trying hard to keep it from everyone else that the two of them had difficulties at all. ‘I’m not sure we’ll be able to solve this one,’ she’d admitted about their most recent argument. “Because it’s completely true. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over Byron.” 

She clucked her tongue. “I wouldn’t say that, Jeff. I would say that at this point you don’t _want to_ get over Byron. That’s why you’re clinging to his word choices, hoping that going over there to help him move will reignite the old spark.” 

I mulled that over. “Okay, maybe that’s right,” I acknowledged. “Is that bad? Should I be past that by now?” 

Mary Anne was silent a moment. “Everyone’s got their own time table for this sort of thing, Jeff. You, since you struggle so much with your emotions, are going to take longer to get past a breakup than others. Even more so because you were the one who was dumped rather than the one who did the dumping. Make sense?” I let out a breath in a half-sigh. “I think that in planning so far ahead, you’re doing nothing but setting yourself up for failure. But as far as ‘is that bad’, I’d say it’s a huge improvement over where you were back in April and May when I worried about you all the time.” 

Carol had come to visit me in my temporary digs in early May. She’d told me she just happened to be in the area, but I know Mary Anne called her and Dad, begging them to check in on me. I’d been trying to dull my feelings with liquor and other really bad choices. I’d been sober again since early June, dutifully trying Alcoholics Anonymous this time on a friend’s recommendation. I hated it 95 percent of the time, but there were times that my sponsor was the only one I could talk to. “What do you think I should do next?” 

I could hear the smile in her voice. “Go help Byron move,” she commanded. “And just take his words at face value. Don’t try to read any more into them than he’s saying, okay? And if that goes well, try being friends again.” Mary Anne was walking with the phone and I could hear Pete shouting something at the television in the background. “Slowly. I think that’s the keyword for you these days. No matter what you do, do it slowly. That will give you time to digest everything and feel your way around his heart…and let him do the same.” 

“Thanks, Mary Anne,” I enthused. She’d done more than given good advice; she’d refused to put out that little flame of hope, even if she did dampen it. Good old steady Mary Anne: sentimental and romantic, but a realist deep down underneath. “Want me to keep you updated?” 

“Could I even stop you?” she quipped, and what’s better is that it was completely true. “Good luck, Jeff. I’m always pulling for you.” 

“I know,” I acknowledged, “and I love you for it.” We said our goodbyes and I hung up. My relationships with my sisters were interesting. I regularly told Gracie I loved her, but she was ten and I’d helped change her diapers. It was a natural thing to tell her how I felt. But Dawn and I grew up together and she didn’t exactly go around going, ‘Oh, I love you Jeffy’ and spewing affection. Last time I saw her, more than two years ago, she gave me a brief hug, told me good luck with everything and to make sure to stay in touch. That was it. And even back then, I would have never told Mary Anne I even appreciated her beyond a thank you. 

Things were different now. I hadn’t changed how I felt about Dawn—I knew that if I truly needed her, she’d be there for me, even a continent away—but I had come to see Mary Anne as more of a ‘real’ sister, too. She’d basically said as much some weeks back: “If having a little brother means having to constantly be worried for someone that you didn’t give birth to and aren’t married to, then I think I have a little brother for the first time.” I’d laughed at that moment, but later when we’d ended our call I’d told her I loved her. You could hear the smile in her voice when she’d said it back. 

I turned back to the baseball game. At least that, unlike human interactions, was something I could easily understand. Baseball games didn’t depress me or require me to get free therapy from my sister. 

I settled back into the couch, knowing I wouldn’t get anything else done the rest of the day. 

***

_Closing time_  
_One last call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer_  
_Closing time_  
_You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here_  
Semisonic, Closing Time 

**Perry**

I was in a cab on some back street in a residential neighborhood in San Francisco when I made the phone call. (At least, that’s the way I remembered it later.) “Can I come spend the night?” I asked the moment the phone was picked up. 

I’d clearly woken him up. “Again?” he asked after yawning audibly. 

I was indignant. What was he doing keeping track? “I lost my keys,” I explained, slumped down in my seat. My dear old friend Buzzy had found a new bar on the other side of town from where we usually hung out. He’d wound up finding a distinguished older gentleman to leave with, the kind who has a wife back home that has no idea about his secret queer life. He’d left me alone and stranded and keyless. 

“Again,” Byron repeated with a sigh. I didn’t respond to that. I knew I’d won; By has to play self-sacrificing all the time; it makes him feel needed. “All right,” he continued a moment later, confirming my thoughts. “Are you on your way now?” 

“I honestly have no idea where I am,” I admitted. It suddenly occurred to me that the cabbie was wandering around neighborhoods to up his fare for the ride. 

“Well, that’s just peachy.” By oozed sarcasm. “I’m going to bed in one hour. If you’re not here by then, you’re SOL.” 

I smiled, closing my eyes. Byron likes to threaten me on a regular basis, but they’re completely empty threats. There was no way he was going to turn me away if I was late. “You sound like my mother,” I commented. 

“Spoiled trust fund brat,” By teased. That’s his favorite insult for me, and one I don’t find very insulting at all. 

*** 

I arrived at By’s place less than twenty minutes later. He buzzed me in without even commenting on my quick descent. I moved slowly up the stairs, feeling the effects of the alcohol I’d been ingesting. (Some nights, I make the mistake of being cute and letting guys buy me drinks. It always sounds like a good idea, but I usually wind up drinking way more than when I pay myself.) When I finally made it to his door, it swung open before I could even knock. “So,” By said, looking a combination of cross and sleepy. “Here you are.” 

I yawned and gave him a hug. “Thanks, By,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. 

He rolled his eyes. “This is pathetic, Perry,” he announced, sidestepping my affection and perching on the arm of the couch. He was barefoot, in a pair of worn sweatpants and what must have been a brand-new undershirt. Despite the fact that he was dressed for bed, I got the feeling that I’d earlier woken him from a doze on the couch rather than a full-night’s sleep. “You’re nearly twenty-four years old. You’re a college graduate. And here you are, trolling for men on a weeknight, getting so drunk you ‘misplace’ your house key. It’s sad.” 

I fell over gently on the couch so I was looking up at him. “You’re cute when you’re being holier than thou,” I told him. 

Byron pretended he wasn’t amused. “I’m about to be frickin’ adorable, then. What are you doing with your life, Per? Who are you and how is this behavior helping you become a better person?” 

“Don’t social worker me, By. I’m not one of the kids down at the youth home.” Byron had recently gotten an internship working with disturbed and mentally ill teens. It had allowed him to quit the overnight job that he’d said was killing him slowly. “I’m just a young man with no career prospects, still looking for a job. And I figure that since my working life hasn’t come together yet, I should work on my love life. And I’d be fine if I hadn’t lost my key…again.” 

Byron laughed, even though he still sounded exasperated. “You haven’t figured that out yet, have you?” he asked, leaning over me. He tousled my hair. “Think about it. What’s the one thing that every bar-hopping trip that ends in misplaced keys has in common?” He paused to let me sort it out, but I was far too inebriated for that. I shook my head. “Buzzy. You don’t lose your key ring; he takes it from you. That way, you don’t get horribly drunk and take some loser back to your place. Instead, you get horribly drunk and sleep on my couch.” 

He was right. Completely and totally right. Except, he was missing one key fact that Buzzy was more than a little aware of. “You know I love you for taking me in when my hypocritical bastard ex-friend ditches me for a night of passion.” 

By rolled his eyes again. “Why do you always declare your love for me when you’re hopelessly wasted?” he asked hypothetically. 

I closed my eyes, settling into his couch. The furniture was ugly but surprisingly comfortable, as I’d discovered on at least ten earlier occasions. “ _In vito veritas_ , By. Some people can only speak the truth when they’ve had a little liquid courage.” 

Byron had been leaning slightly over me as I was speaking, but even though my eyes were still shut, I knew he sat up straight. “ _In vino veritas_ ,” he corrected, then got up and walked into the kitchen. He ran the kitchen sink and then came back. I could feel the body heat radiating off him as he hovered over me. “Drink up, Per,” he ordered, placing a glass of water and a couple aspirin on the end table next to my head. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, if you’re not too hungover.” 

*** 

I don’t remember anything else of that night. I do know that when I woke up that morning, By was not far away. Still dressed in his pajamas, he was kneeling next to a book case, humming on and off, sounding happy. Purposeful. “Whatcha doing?” I asked him as I sat up. I must have taken the aspirin at some point, because it was gone and the glass was empty. Even better, I had the feeling that with one more dose of aspirin, I’d be ready to face the day. 

By looked up from the box he was stuffing full of books. That one action answered my question, but he forced a smile and gave me a verbal reply. “Packing. I’m moving in a week or so, remember?” 

I didn’t actually remember that, but the tone of voice made it extremely clear that he’d told me that fact at least twice before. “Need some help moving?” I asked, more out of politeness than actual desire. 

By turned back to his box, shaking his head. “Nope. Charlie and Mel and I have that under control.” As soon as he said _Charlie and Mel_ I had a flashback to the conversation in which he’d explained that he was moving in with two friends of his. I’d never met Charlie and Mel, but they were two of the first people he’d met after moving to Berkeley. I found that I was a little jealous of this friendship with people he seemed to be keeping from me. 

I watched him finish packing up that box of books and label it ‘bookcase 1’ and then start on another before I got up to use the bathroom. When I came back, Byron was no longer in front of the bookcase, despite the fact that he’d barely started into his second box. He was in the kitchen, tooling around, making toast. “Hungry?” he asked me and to my great surprise, I actually was. He smeared peanut butter and banana on a piece of toast and handed it to me without asking. I’d mooched enough breakfasts off him that he just knew that was something I’d eat. 

He watched me take a bite of toast and waited until my mouth was full of peanut butter to start the hard conversation. “Per, about last night…” 

I hurriedly swallowed the peanut butter and washed it down with a swig of milk, which had already been waiting for me on the table when I’d gotten over there. “What about it?” 

By twiddled his fingers, looking down at his toast. It was lying where he’d left it, next to the peanut butter. He hadn’t even finished making his own meal yet, and it was probably half-cold. “When you said something about needing liquid courage to speak your real feelings?” 

“Oh.” I set my glass of milk down and looked at him. I’d started hanging out with Byron and Jeff because they were legitimately nice guys, but I’d been drawn especially to By because he seemed so clueless about life in some ways. I’d enjoyed playing big brother to him at first: teaching him queer slang, dragging him out of Berkeley and showing him around town. Despite being out for a while, By had never really immersed himself into the culture, something Jeff jumped right into. Part of that was attributable to him being shyer and more introverted; the other part was that he just sort of followed Jeff’s lead, and Jeff didn’t push him too hard. 

Now, though, it was different. These weren’t big brother feelings I had toward him anymore. Part of it was that he’d learned all the slang he needed to learn and that he’d immersed himself in the culture as much as he was comfortable with. The other part was that, in the midst of his breakup with Jeff, I’d seen By in a new light. This wasn’t a confused adolescent here. This was a strong young man, who knew what he wanted in life and wasn’t going to settle for less. That was what _I_ was looking for. “What do you want me to say, By?” I asked. 

Byron looked up from his toast. “I want you to say—when you’re sober—what you hinted at last night when you were drunk.” 

I picked up my toast and took a big bite, debating internally. I had a feeling that if I came out and said _I’ve wanted you for a long time_ , I’d scare him away…even though that was exactly what I’d been hinting at last night. By watched me eating, scrutinizing my every move. I felt like he was trying to read my mind. Had someone done that to him, he would have squirmed all over the place, trying to avoid their eyes. But I’m not that easily frightened. I took another drink of milk. “Want to go out to dinner with me?” I asked, to my own surprise. “Just you and me, some place nice.” 

By’s eyes didn’t move off me. He was completely still, his expression frozen on his face. Despite the deer-in-headlights routine, I could tell that I was more surprised by the invitation than he was. We sat there, both of us not moving, for a moment before he finally grabbed the knife and spread peanut butter on his toast. He took two bites before he answered me, still concentrating on his toast. “Clarify this for me,” he insisted. “This is a…” 

“Date,” I supplied, knowing he wouldn’t stop until he heard the word. “I’m asking you out, Byron.” 

“I don’t know,” he answered instantly. I got the feeling he was a lot less clueless than he had been playing. It was less that he didn’t know how I felt than, if I didn’t bring it up, he didn’t have to address it. 

“What do you need to make up your mind?” 

Byron smiled, although he was still uneasy. I’d once teased him that he gathers facts and evidence, draws inferences and conclusions, and then…goes with his heart and instincts. “It’s not like that,” he insisted. 

“Then what is it?” I urged. “I’m not asking for you to go have a quickie with me behind the dumpster at a club, By. I just want dinner. What’s the harm in that?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” By said, playing with the peanut butter on his toast rather than eating it. “But I’d be more likely to go for the quickie than for the dinner at this point.” He stuck his sticky finger in his mouth without realizing how adorable he looked doing it. That was another thing to love about By: he was self-conscious and never tried to be cute. He really didn’t have to try, though. 

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“You took it the wrong way,” he said with a laugh, even though I hadn’t. “What I mean is, casual sex doesn’t mean anything. I could maybe get off with some guy and then go on like it had never happened. But that dinner means something, or at least you want it to. I know you’re hoping it’s the start of something and not just a fun evening.” 

“I can’t picture you ever, _ever_ having casual sex,” I commented, trying to deflect from the main point of the conversation. Byron shrugged, intending to mean _You never know_ , but I did indeed know. He just wasn’t the type. Despite that, he didn’t change expression, and I knew he was waiting for me to address the other half of his earlier statement. “A dinner’s just dinner. Why read more into it than that? We go out, we enjoy each other’s company. And if we really enjoy ourselves, we do it again.” 

“Yes, but if…” he began, then looked away. You didn’t often see him struggle with words, but when he did, it was a slow process for him to pull the thought together. “If we tried this and it didn’t work out, what would I do?” He sighed and put his head on his hands. There was still some peanut butter on one hand and it smeared on his cheek, but he didn’t seem aware. “I already lost one friend that way.” 

I reached across the table with one finger and wiped the peanut butter off his cheek, causing him to wrinkle up his nose like a bunny. It took me a minute to think over what he’d said; he must be referring to Jeff. I happened to know for a fact that Jeff was his only—his only boyfriend. The only boy he’d ever even so much as kissed. “Why look at the worst case scenario?” I asked him, popping the finger with the small smear of peanut butter into my own mouth. 

He contemplated that for a moment. “Too much time hanging around Haley?” he guessed. I had to smile at that. I could always tell when he’d gotten a phone call from his future sister-in-law because every sentence out of his mouth afterward was _Haley this_ or _Hay that_. I hadn’t met Haley yet either, but she was making plans to come for a spring break visit, if it worked out. “Look, Per. I’m just not particularly successful at relationships. I’m afraid to risk one of the best friendships I’ve ever had over—” 

“—over a chance at love, something you deserve?” I interjected. Byron shook his head and bit his lip, and I couldn’t tell exactly what he was objecting to. “What definition are you using for success in this case, anyway?” 

That he had no problem explaining. “Doesn’t really matter. Adam’s been with more than a dozen girls, not to mention all the ones he’s just hung out with. And Jordan’s getting married. And here I am, alone.” 

I laughed and By looked up at me, his teeth still tearing gently at his lower lip, though the lip was slowly escaping. His expression was questioning. “Of course,” I said, leaning forward so that I was closer to his face. I resisted the urge to touch his mouth, thinking it might scare him more than draw him to me. “Your brothers.” He nodded, his tooth finally disappearing behind his lips. There’s something about pale skin that makes lips look even redder and more appealing. I shook myself before I got too distracted and turned to his concerns. “Forget your brothers for a moment. First, they’re, y’know. Straight. That’s not exactly a fair comparison. How old were they when they started dating while you were still hiding in the closet? I know I dated some guys while firmly asserting to the whole world that I was completely straight, but I’m also fairly certain you didn’t.” 

Byron wrinkled his nose again, but this was a different nose wrinkle. Jeff had once said that Byron could tell entire stories just with his nose, and I was beginning to agree. He was going to try to logic me to death, so I finished my point. “Anyway, forget Adam for a minute because, as I told you earlier, you never could go for anonymous sex. And how much do you want to bet Adam has done the deed with at least one person whose name he didn’t know?” The nose was still wrinkled, but he flashed a brief smile that clearly meant _yes_. “And no offense to Jordan and Haley, but that’s clearly just a fluke. Who the hell marries their high school sweetheart, the girl next door?” 

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. He’d been watching me, following and digesting everything, until I said that. Then his shoulders slumped, he sat back in his chair, putting distance between us, and closed his eyes. I stopped watching Byron’s nose and watched his mouth as he briefly mouthed something; it took me a moment to realize it was the word _me_. I shook myself, but only internally so that he didn’t know I was surprised. Jeff had technically been his high school sweetheart—they’d started dating shortly before they’d graduated—and although they couldn’t really get married, Jeff had once jokingly mentioned that domestic partnerships were legally recognized in the state of Connecticut, where By had grown up. It was clear that, despite his seeming maturity, he’d clung to some childish notion that he and Jeff were going to beat all the odds and live happily ever after. 

“My point, By, is to not judge yourself by others. Having one relationship—which lasted for three years and through a lot of bull crap, might I add—in your whole life doesn’t make you unsuccessful. You tried hard to make things work with Jeff. It’s not your fault it didn’t work out. You deserve to be happy, and I think that’s something that’s been lacking in your life the past few months.” 

Byron opened his eyes and watched me seriously, but he didn’t respond to that. “I think that you should start small. Say, a dinner. See if that makes you happy. If it does, then you do it again. If it doesn’t, find something else that does.” 

His expression didn’t change, but he said one word that made my whole day. “Okay.” 

***

_I just saw Haley’s comet; she waved_  
_Said why you always running in place_  
_Even the man in the moon disappeared_  
_Somewhere in the stratosphere_  
Shinedown, Second Chance 

**Byron**

“Ready?” Jack Schafer called from the landing in the middle of the stairwell. “Lift it up over the banister and we’ll have to rotate it…sorta this way.” 

Jeff was standing not far from this father, panting and out of breath. “Way to be descriptive, Dad,” he snarked. 

Jack gave him the evil eye. “Jeff…” I admonished warningly. It was two in the afternoon. Jack had driven up from Orange County first thing that morning, leaving his house well before dawn. He’d really been hoping that he’d load up the moving van he’d rented and be ready to head back in a few hours so that he could pay a smaller fee on the van. It was now well past ‘a few hours’ and he was tired and crabby. It hadn’t helped that one of the neighbors had apparently gotten tired of the moving van being parked ‘in his spot’ and had left a passive-aggressive note on the windshield. 

Jeff turned to me and shrugged. He was just as aggravated as his father. The hottest day in August is a lousy time to move furniture, and we were all feeling the effects. My own temper was starting to flare as well. “I’m the one who’s holding this couch,” I growled, and it was true. Jack had set his end down and Jeff, who’d been in the middle, had followed suit and walked down to the landing. The weight of the couch was actually on the ground, but hell. What gave Jeff the right to gripe if he wasn’t even going to help? “Jack, if you head down a couple stairs, Jeff and I will lift it over the banister, like you said. Jeff will guide that end towards you while I’ll bring this end toward the wall behind him. You grab it from him and he’ll duck out the way, okay?” 

I don’t take charge like that too often, so I guess I surprised them into blindly following directions. Whatever the reason, it worked; the couch finally slid around the tight corner. “Great!” Jack said, puffing his air out as he approached the third floor. “Now we just have to do that two more times.” 

Jeff groaned melodramatically. “Why in the hell did we ever get an apartment on the fourth floor?” he asked, looking directly at me. 

I felt a tug at my heartstrings when he said the word _we_. “Because it was either this or the one right next to the crack den, remember?” 

He relaxed, laughing one little puff of forced air. “Oh, yeah.” 

It was both pleasant and awkward being in the same place as Jeff. Part of it felt extremely natural, like slipping back into a comfy old pair of slippers. Bantering and teasing had been part of our conversation since we were nine—more than half our lives. The trouble was that, given our adult relationship, teasing often led straight to flirting, and we all know where that leads. I’d vowed to myself, sometime back, that no matter how much I may have missed certain elements of my relationship with Jeff, I wasn’t going to be that guy who gave in to moments of weakness and fell. I would find other sources of comfort. I’m not just talking about what Adam would call a ‘booty call’ either, although I know that’s what it sounds like. Jeff was always one of an extremely small group of people that I could turn to and speak my mind and my heart completely without fear of being teased or having the information repeated. 

Jeff, for his part, seemed to be having two different minds about the situation as well. He smiled freely but some of them seemed a little strained at the edge; he joked in a hands-off, standoffish kind of way, as if he, too, wanted to prevent slipping into old habits. 

Luckily for our sanity, the couch was the last of the big items. Jack helped us load a couple of boxes of Jeff’s stuff and the two arm chairs from the living room and then bid us _adieu_ , starting his second six hour U-Haul drive for the day. I turned to Jeff, who was glistening—he was that kind of shiny that looks healthy and, well, on him, gorgeous. “Thanks for calling your dad,” I said, just as a way of shaking away the thoughts I was having about him. 

Jeff leaned against the front steps to the building. Mrs. Metzsky is the first floor front apartment, and she _hates_ when people do that. She says it makes the building look ‘thuggy.’ I saw her curtains flutter and hoped she didn’t come outside to comment. Mrs. Metzsky liked me okay, but she had a problem with Jeff. He’d mouthed off to her a couple of times while he was living in the building. (I was also pretty sure that she also had a problem with what she called ‘the gays’ and only tolerated me because I gave her respect she didn’t particularly deserve.) “It’s no problem, By. It was the least I can do, since I owe you so badly that I can never repay you.” 

I ducked my head but tried to cover it up by wiping at the sweat on my neck. I really didn’t want to talk about that. After Jeff and I had broken up I’d wound up going to student health and talking to a counselor about things. He’d told me that the sooner I was able to let go of the past, the easier I’d find moving on. ‘Letting go’ was a foreign concept to me who held grudges for things my brothers had done back when we were pre-adolescent. I’d finally just decided that the best way to deal with it was to accept that it had happened and I couldn’t change it and to put it on a shelf in my mind. It had sat there, being ignored and letting me feign normalcy. When I was alone and could deal with it in private, I could pick it off the shelf. 

Seeing Jeff today was like having the shelf collapse and having to step around the pieces of my broken heart again. Him bringing it up was like stepping straight on one. I looked back up to see him sitting there with a look of pure remorse on his face. Until I’d seen that, I hadn’t really stopped to think about what Jeff was feeling. I’d accepted the fact that his cheating wasn’t really him; it was the alcohol. But that doesn’t stand up in a court of law (‘I’m sorry I killed my boyfriend, but I was really drunk’) and it hadn’t made much of a difference on my mind when it had first happened. It did make dealing with his hurt harder now. “Want to come back upstairs for a drink?” I asked him, surprising myself. 

Jeff jumped up, a little too eager. I think he wanted to change the subject as much as I did. “Sure! I left my keys and wallet up there, so I’d have to come up anyway.” 

He led the way up the stairs but then, remembering he didn’t live there anymore, waited for me to serve him. We both had cups full of ice water when I suddenly realized there was nowhere for us to sit any more. Jeff’s dad had taken all the dining and living room furniture. 

Jeff didn’t seem perturbed by this. He sat down on the floor and I joined him, sitting a few feet away. “How’s the packing going?” he asked. 

“Almost done,” I commented. “Just got the kitchen to do, and as you know, that won’t take long.” I’d come to the apartment with a ‘kitchen in a box’ from Kitchen  & Bath. It consisted of four place settings of plastic dishes and matching flatware, a couple of cooking pots and a few accessories. I was pretty sure I could get most of my kitchen supplies back into the box. 

We chatted idly about school and Jeff’s new dorm. (“I never realized how loud that many people living in one place could be,” he’d said. “Don’t you remember the phone calls we had when I’d lived in the dorms at Duke?” I’d quipped in reply.) Before too long, I looked down at my watch and was surprised to realize that two hours had gone by. This—just talking, no expectations, no worries about whether I was inadvertently flirting—got easier with time. But then, Jeff had always been easy to talk to. I could remember very distinctly, a conversation between the two of us when we were preteens. Adam and Jordan had been invited to a special Little League all-star game and I hadn’t. Jeff had found me sulking in one of the trees in my parents’ backyard and had coaxed me out by convincing me to go for a bike ride. Midway there, he’d asked me a question I’d never forget. 

_“Byron, what do you want to do when you grow up?”_

_I’d shrugged. The two of us were stopped at a street corner, and there was no traffic. “We triplets want to open our own business.”_

_Jeff had leaned to one side; his bike was slightly too tall for him and it was the only way he could stand it upright when he wasn’t riding. His elbow brushed my side inadvertently and he didn’t notice, but even at age twelve, I sure did. “Nope,” he said bluntly. I turned toward him; before that, I’d been staring straight ahead because that brief touch had left my skin tingling. Thank goodness, before you hit puberty certain involuntary bodily responses are a lot less noticeable. “That’s what your brothers want. What do_ you _want?”_

_I was momentarily speechless. Jeff felt like the first person outside of my family who didn’t call me Adam-Jordan-Byron or just triplet. (It wasn’t technically true, as a lot of people could tell us apart, even though we were identical. But despite that, I still felt like my name was all those people really knew about me.) Jordan and Adam had been going on about this business—which was sounding less and less legitimate and more like the mafia every time they brought it up—for probably six months at that time. No one else had seemed to notice my lack of enthusiasm for the imaginary company, especially not my brothers. I wound up shaking my head at Jeff. “I don’t know,” I admitted. I’d never really thought about myself long-term as a separate person before that. I was a Pike Triplet, because that was a Proper Noun. It’s like I’d been cast in the role of Triplet # 3 in the play of life._

_Jeff accepted that for what it was. “Fair enough,” he’d replied as he’d kicked back off on his bike, leaning away from me for the first time. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding._

_“What about you?” I’d asked, not about to let him one-up me._

_He pedaled away rapidly, leaving me to hop back on my bike and struggle to catch up. Like my brothers, he’d always been faster and more athletic than I was. When he finally stopped, he was out of breath but had a determined look on his face. I waited for the answer to my question, because I knew I would get one. “I don’t know what I want to do either,” he said as he whipped his water bottle off his bike. He took a swig and then passed it to me. Mine was already empty. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. I want to love one person, marry them and stay married. No divorce. If we start fighting, we’ll just have to love harder to make it work.”_

That was the only year Jeff had spent the entire summer—from the day his school let out until it went back into session—in Stoneybrook. Jack and Carol, his dad and stepmom, had been fighting and were ‘trying to work things out’. Jeff had later admitted that he was afraid they’d divorce and he’d never see his little sister again. He’d already spent a better part of a school year on the opposite coast from his older sister, and he wasn’t keen to do it again. 

I hadn’t remembered that conversation as the time that Jeff confided in me, or the first time I realized I had a raging crush on him. I’d remembered it as the first time someone had seen Byron Pike instead of Triplet # 3. He’d always been one of the people I could always get to call me on those self-pitying moments of living in my brothers’ shadows. 

That’s probably what made me say what I uttered next. “We should do this again sometime.” 

Jeff’s whole face lit up. “We should,” he agreed, trying to sound casual about it—and failing miserably. “We can watch television or go for a bike ride or something.” 

I leaned back against the counter, also feigning being relaxed. “When’s a good time for you?” 

He wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t really know,” he said. “Maybe before I start student teaching. I don’t know what my time will look like after that.” 

I nodded my understanding. “Well, I’m now busy all day Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday, and until five on Thursday.” Senior year had started only a couple days before, but I’d been working my externship for two weeks now. 

“Hey!” Jeff exclaimed. “What about this Thursday? School starts tomorrow, but we don’t start our student teaching positions until next week. And you know what Thursday is.” 

I thought for a moment before I realized what he meant: Thursday was his birthday. I flipped open my mental calendar and cringed. “I can’t this Thursday,” I admitted. I felt terrible about turning him down for a friendly get-together on his birthday…especially for this. “I already have plans with Perry.” 

Jeff didn’t catch the significance of that. “Well, invite him along,” he urged. “The more the merrier on your birthday.” 

I looked down at my bare feet. One of them was tapping the floor nervously and I urged it to stop. “I can’t. It’s not that kind of plans.” 

I was still looking at my toes, but I could feel Jeff analyzing me critically with his eyes anyway. Suddenly his body just slumped; his posture went from enthusiastic to defeated in one second. “What kind of plans?” he asked suspiciously. 

Part of me—the part that was still angry at Jeff, the part that shouldn’t have been put on the shelf—wanted to snap at him that it wasn’t his business. Instead I just watched as my foot began tapping again, and Jeff’s suspicions were confirmed. “Oh,” he said quietly. I finally looked up. “Well,” he continued, mustering every bit of strength he had, “you deserve to be happy. I hope…” 

“Thanks,” I jumped in, saving him from having to finish a thought that he didn’t even want to make. “I wish the same for you, you know.” 

He nodded, still downcast. “I’m in AA,” he told me. “I’ve been sober for 49 days now. I’m going to stick with it, this time. Losing you was my rock bottom.” 

I’d heard something like that before. Jeff had promised me two or three times before that this was the ‘absolute last time’ that one drink would lead to him getting blind drunk and doing something stupid. I knew sobriety—and Jeff _was_ an alcoholic, whether he wanted to admit it or not—was a hard road, a never-ending struggle. But while I’ve been told I’m an extremely patient person, when I’m pushed too far, and too hard—say by my boyfriend fucking a _girl_ and wanting me to forgive him for that (on top of spending all our utility bill money on alcohol)—that patience disappears. I’m only human, right? 

The real problem, as I saw it, was that Jeff was who he was. It’s true for everybody; you can’t really change your core personality. Jeff, for all the maturing he’d done over the years we’d known each other, was still that little boy who once got grounded for touching his mom’s pruning shears right after she’d forbidden him to do so. The more off-limits something was, the more he wanted it. That was always going to be true for alcohol, and I was afraid that he’d just keep disappointing and hurting me. 

Despite that, I was impressed that he was actually trying Alcoholics Anonymous, given the scathing comments he’d made about ‘the program’ before. “That’s great,” I enthused. “It sounds like a really positive step for you.” 

“Yeah!” Jeff leaned forward for a moment, taking energy from my kind words, but then he slumped back down, looking away. He was ‘pulling a Byron’ as Haley calls it, trying to hide his emotions, but the slump gave it all away. I wasn’t sure what was suddenly bothering him. Did he think I was ‘social worker-ing’ him, like Perry sometimes accused me of, or did the comment maybe sound insincere, like something you’d say to a distant acquaintance that unloaded his troubles on you? Either way, he wrapped his arms around his legs, which were bent in front of him, his sandals crossed at the toes. 

I hated to see him hurting, even after everything he’d done. I reached out and squeezed his toes like I used to when he was doing homework and I wanted his attention. Jeff looked up at me with red eyes and suddenly I realized just how deep his pain was. As cheesy and clichéd as it sounds, I felt like I was seeing his soul at that moment, and the tear in his heart was even bigger than mine. Not only was he mourning the loss of _us_ , but he also only had himself to blame. “What does your Saturday look like?” I asked after a moment. “I get off work at seven, and I have all day Sunday for homework.” 

Jeff wiped gamely at one eye, not even trying to hide it like he normally did. “I think I’m free.” 

“Great!” I wasn’t faking my enthusiasm. “I’d love to see your dorm. Why don’t I pick up a movie on my way over there, okay?” 

He agreed to that and made an obvious excuse to get out of there after that. I sat alone on my floor, against the counters still, trying to sort out my own feelings and emotions. I was actually feeling good about these plans with Jeff, but nervous and frustrated all the same. And then there was the event I’d turned Jeff down in favor of: my date with Perry. That had me even more jumbled up inside. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Perry. Sure, he was a good friend: loyal, comforting and willing to pull me out of my comfort zone when I needed that push. But I just didn’t have the same kind of biological reaction to him that I’d had with other guys in the past. There wasn’t that imaginary tug at my heartstrings or tingling in my fingertips when I saw him. Maybe that was a good thing, though. If we could start off slowly and build a solid foundation and let those feelings grow, I could make decisions with my head instead of my heart. 

I sat there, curling up in a ball similar to the one Jeff had found himself in earlier, for a good twenty minutes, but I only felt more confused and more hurt and more alone. So I did what I always do when I can’t solve my own problems: I reached out to the only person who, as she said, knew me better than I knew myself. I picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. I let it ring once and then hung up, hoping to get a reply quickly. 

Sometimes it takes her an hour or more to get back to me, but this time it was only five minutes. “Hey, By,” Haley chirped. I hoped her mood was contagious. “What’s up, dude?” 

“I’m having a moment,” I shared. 

Hay was rustling plastic; I had to guess she’d just come from the grocery store. “What kind of moment? A moment of self-realization? A moment of self-pity?” She was teasing me in a gentle fashion, but it was exasperating all the same. “Your ‘moments’ tend to the extremes.” 

“That’s true,” I agreed. 

“So?” 

“So Jeff just came over to help me move.” 

“Oh, I gotcha.” She noisily plopped down in a chair. “All kinds of emotions stirred up, huh?” 

“Yup,” I agreed mournfully. “I’m stuck, Hay. I can’t decide how I feel, either. I remember how good things used to be, and I want to go back to that. But I also remember how I felt last February, and I never want to feel that way again.” 

“That’s the problem with relationships,” Haley said sagely. “You have to take the bad with the good. The chance for pain is the flipside to the chance for happiness.” 

“What would _you_ know about it?” I grumbled. “You just moved in with your fiancé.” 

She sighed, and I could tell the comment annoyed her a bit but she was pushing it aside because it wasn’t the point. “You think Jordan and I don’t have problems? That we don’t argue?” I didn’t reply to that, because I didn’t think that. Everyone has problems. “Anyway,” she continued, drawing the word out in an effort to change the subject, “you said you don’t know what to think or how to feel. That’s not usually a problem you have. What’s bothering you?” 

I lay down on the floor, spread-eagle like a starfish, and stared at the ceiling. I thought for a minute, and when I didn’t answer right away, Hay went back to putting away her groceries. “Jeff was pleasant, and we had a good time together. He was keen about us being friends again, but I know what that really means. He’s hoping we could eventually get back together.” 

“Okaaaaaay.” Hay was starting to understand now…or at least think she understood. “And?” 

“And I just agreed to go on a date with Perry.” 

Groceries clanged to the floor. “Byron Pike!” Haley exclaimed. “Are you shitting me? You finally went for it.” 

I’d spoken to Hay about Perry’s growing feelings (I didn’t know what to call it; ‘crush’ made it sound like he was a teenager) and my confusion and reluctance on a couple of occasions. She’d been urging me to ‘jump his bones’ ever since. It was pretty funny to hear her say that, considering that the last time we’d spoken a couple weeks ago, she was still a virgin. “Well, he finally asked me.” 

“Oh, Byron,” she said with a moan. I knew she was worked up because she called me by my full name twice in a row. “You need to stop sitting back and letting everyone else dictate your love life.” 

I put the hand that wasn’t holding the phone over my eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to do, Hay. I’m trying to sort myself out so that I can do just that.” 

“Fair enough,” she said, backing off. She knows the limits of how far she can push...but that doesn’t stop her from standing right at that line for a while. “Are you leaning one way or the other?” 

“Haaaaaaay,” I groaned, but then I turned serious. “I guess I need a little bit more time to think it over.” 

“I understand,” Haley said, and I knew she did. “Just keep me up to date, okay? I just want to see you happy, By.” 

I knew that. I always knew that. And that’s what I wanted for myself…I just wasn’t sure how to go about getting it. 

***

_But there’s a warm wind blowing_  
_The stars are out, and I’d really love to see you tonight_  
I’d Really Love to See You Tonight 

**Jeff**

I kept repeating certain things to myself over the next few days. This was a technique one of my therapists had taught me some time back that had actually been helpful: Find reality in the chaos and keep saying it over and over until I believed it. (It also worked with positive thoughts when I was depressed…at least, sometimes.) 

First, I kept reminding myself that Byron hadn’t done anything wrong, and neither had Perry. The fact that their actions had hurt me was not their fault but mine. I’d cheated; I’d driven Byron away from me. I had to accept responsibility for that. I wasn’t to step eight of the program yet, when you write a list of everyone you’ve wronged so you can make amends to them—make them whole again—but when I did, I knew Byron was at the top of that list. 

Byron was single; he was free and unencumbered. If he wanted to go on a date with Perry, he was well within his rights to do so. I didn’t have to like it. 

But, on the flipside, I also remembered the way he’d squeezed my toes. I’d tried to do what Mary Anne had said and not read love into the spaces between offers of friendship. (She didn’t say it that way, but of course that’s what she meant.) I could do that successfully with his words, but not that one gesture. That was more personal, more intimate. He could have squeezed my arm or my shoulder and I wouldn’t have felt the same way. Part of it surely had to do with the fact that I associated that move with sex. I didn’t have a foot fetish and neither did By, but anytime he’d gotten my attention by squeezing my toes, we’d wound up naked. I don’t know if By was even aware of it, but the only time he ever interrupted my studies that way was when he was horny. 

I repeated the former statement to myself as my constant reality check, but whenever I felt too depressed and wanted to just drink and forget it all, I reminded myself of the latter, and my sobriety. I wanted to get that 60 day chip more than just about anything at that moment. 

I’d moved into the dorms a couple days earlier, and I was finding it harder to stay sober there than I had expected. My suitemates were all great guys, but they were sophomores. Nineteen years old. Not only was there always beer in the suite, they also pooled all their money and just shared it. Not one of them would miss a beer or even a six-pack if it turned up missing. 

I was alone in the suite that Tuesday afternoon after my meeting with Byron and the two kids on the other side of the suite had just dropped off a couple more six packs to add to the giant ‘bar’ of beer and hard liquor they’d amassed over the past couple days. We’d only been in our rooms for less than a week, and I’d realized that we had more alcohol than furniture in our shared living space. 

Before that Sunday with Byron, I hadn’t even paid any attention to the ‘bar’ in the corner. Now that the other guys had started class and I was still wandering around the dorm without a purpose, I couldn’t take my attention completely away from it. When I was happy—when I felt like my life was traveling a straight line and I could see where I was headed—I never had the urge to drink. Now that my life was in shambles, I had moments when I thought of nothing else. 

There was only one thing to do at a moment like that. I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled through the contacts until I found the one I was looking for: Pain in the Ass. With a big sigh, I pushed the send button. “Hey, Jeff,” my sponsor Annette said, sounding way too perky and enthusiastic. There’s a reason I hate talking to her most of the time; she’s just too much of a cheering section. “What can I do for you today?” 

“Save me from myself,” I moaned, picking up a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and twirling it around in front of my face. It was bad enough that I had to face down a pile of beer, but couldn’t it have been _decent_ beer? “I’m having a rough afternoon.” 

Annette made a sympathetic noise. “You moved into the dorms, right?” she asked. We hadn’t spoken for nearly a week, and I’d expressed reluctance to tell my roommates about my drinking problem. She’d encouraged me to share, but I’d decided it wasn’t a good idea. Honestly, I didn’t really want to tell them anything about myself. “How’s that going?” 

“My roommates are okay for what they are.” 

“And what are they, exactly?” 

“Immature nineteen year olds,” I explained. She made that really irritating sympathy sound again, and it was like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Sounds about right,” she noted. I grunted. “So why are you calling, then?” 

Despite how much I hated talking with Annette—she was abrasive, loud and constantly tried to cheer me up when I didn’t want to be cheered—somewhere, deep down, she really did understand. I’d told her all about my relationship with Byron and my fall from grace. “I saw Byron this weekend.” 

There was a catch in her breath. “Did you just run into each other?” she asked suspiciously. 

“No, we made plans,” I explained slowly, like I was talking to a small child. “We had to clean out our old apartment.” 

“I thought we talked about this, Jeff.” Annette took on a scolding tone. “This early in the program, you should be focusing on yourself, and you can’t do that if you’re focused on Byron.” 

“I know, I know,” I griped. They strongly discourage members in the early parts of the twelve steps from getting involved in new relationships…or starting back up old ones. “I thought I’d get some closure if I said goodbye and moved on.” 

The air in her pause was so thick that I knew she was cutting the bullshit with a knife. “Whatever the motive, that must have been really tough.” 

Finally, we’d gotten past all the AA-crap to what I needed to discuss. “Yeah,” I replied lamely. 

“So how are you feeling now, Jeff?” 

I lay down on the stinky couch that had probably been in the dorm through forty years and hundreds of kids, turning my back on the stack of beer. Even so, I could feel it looking at me. I must have been going nuts. “Lost. Pointless. Hurt.” 

“Craving a drink?” 

“Yeah.” 

There was that annoying noise again, only this time, it didn’t sound as obnoxious. “Ooookay,” she said, changing her tone to crisp and efficient. I could hear her typing for a moment. “There’s a meeting in Mill Valley at the First Baptist church in two hours. Want to meet me there or pick you up?” 

I sighed. The last thing I wanted right then was to go to a meeting. I sat up and looked at the beer. Okay, maybe it was the _second_ last thing I wanted to do…after getting wasted. “I’ll meet you there.” Mill Valley wasn’t exactly down the street, and if it were anyone else, I would have accepted the ride. But there was a limit to how much Annette-style small talk I could take. 

*** 

The meeting wound up helping so much that I went to another one, closer to home, the next night. But when Thursday rolled around, I just couldn’t see spending my birthday sitting with a bunch of sad sacks talking about how bad their lives had gotten and how they were turning them back around. I spent the morning going over information my cooperating teacher had given me for my student teaching and organizing the binder my supervisor wanted me to have. In just a couple days, I was going to be teaching sixth grade math and science; I needed to appear organized, in charge and pulled together. I figured there was only one of those three I had any power over right at that moment. 

There’s only so long you can spend avoiding issues by straightening out binders and pens, hoping it will straighten out your whole life. By three p.m., I was out of excuses. I couldn’t call Byron and just try to straighten things out that way; he was at work and then he had his date with Perry. When it all came down to it, I just wanted him to be happy. Would I like his happiness to involve me in some way? Of course. But that might not be possible now…or ever. 

I knew the time had come to make a phone call I’d been dreading. There was someone I needed to speak to, someone I’d been avoiding calling. Someone I’d felt I’d let down almost as much as I’d let down Byron and myself. I found the entry in my contacts, but my finger hovered over it for quite a while before I finally connected. It rang twice before she picked up. 

“I’ve been waiting for your call,” Haley said matter-of-factly. Soft music—something quiet and mellow, not her usual style—played in the background. 

“Well, I’m sorry it took me so long to follow through,” I joked even though I wasn’t feeling it. It had been more than six months since I’d last heard her voice. 

“By called me after your little meeting on Sunday,” she continued as a way of bypassing small talk. 

“And what did he say?” 

“Oh, no,” Hay insisted. “I’m not playing that game. I want to hear what _you_ think happened.” 

I repeated basically what had transpired, and she made various ‘I’m listening’ noises during. The only thing I left out was the significance of the toe tug; there’s such a thing as too much information. “Now what do you think?” I finally asked her, desperate for an opinion from someone who knew By well. 

“Same thing I thought before you called, or before he called me,” Haley said. 

“And what is that?” 

“I know you love him and he loves you,” she explained. “But that doesn’t solve everything, does it?” I sighed, because it was true. “I think that life sucks a large chunk of the time, and that good friends are hard to find. You two should definitely hold on to each other.” 

“Yeah,” I said, flopping onto my bed dramatically. My roommate Ben came in just in time to see that and raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t told him I was bi or that I’d dated a man for the past three years. (He was a nice enough guy, but enough of a stereotypical kid that he and his friends called each other fags and butt pirates as affectionate terms meaning ‘idiot.’) But from the looks he sometimes gave me, I had to wonder if he hadn’t figured at least part of that out. “But as friends?” I asked, getting my attention away from Ben and back to Haley. 

“I’m not going to tell you what to do on that,” she declared. “I want to make a few points and then let you decide. You and By know each other. There’s no having to explain weird family trees or strange family traditions.” I smiled briefly, remembering how Jordan had come back from a gathering last summer with Haley’s extended family ‘completely wigged out’—her words. “But that also means you know what you’re getting. By knows your history; he knows every time you’ve screwed up. And you know him and the way he keeps score.” 

“Score?” 

She paused for a moment, as if she were confused by my confusion. “Did Adam or Jordan ever tell you about the score cards they had when they were teenagers?” I answered in the negative. “Well, they tallied up how much they’d done with girls; everything you could possibly do had a point value. I think, based upon what Jordan’s said about it, it was originally just a way for Adam to rub it in Jordan’s face that he was more sexually experienced. Sounds like teenaged Adam, anyway. 

“Well, Byron has a score card like that, only it’s completely in his head. And he’s not scoring scores, the way his brothers were. It’s really more like a comparison chart. For example, he always knows whether I owe him money or he owes me money, because it’s always one way or the other.” 

I sank lower into the bed as Ben, giving me one last assessing look, headed to the shower. “Or the way he used to always compare our relationship to yours with Jordan.” 

“What do you mean, used to?” Haley snickered and I let out one little chuckle. Byron would never let that kind of behavior go completely. “In any case, this is my thought to ponder, Jeff: Do you really want to be with someone who’s always keeping score, who’ll never really let go of the past?” 

I didn’t answer that; didn’t want to answer that. I wanted Byron; that grudge-holding was just one of his little…quirks…that I had to accept because it was part of the package deal. After a long pause when it became clear she was waiting for me to respond, I changed the topic. “How is Jordan, anyway?” 

“He’s sweating like a pig,” she answered instantaneously. I raised my eyebrows. “He just walked through here a few minutes ago after practice and he smells like a farm animal. There’s no deodorant made that stands up to a Florida August heat.” 

“Tell him to go take a shower.” 

“What do you think he’s doing now?” she retorted. “Honestly, there’s no way he’d be allowed into our bed tonight if he didn’t shower.” 

“Wait…” I was missing something here. “You guys are sharing a bed now? Since when?” 

“Since we moved in together at the beginning of the month?” Haley phrased it as a question, but it was really more of a statement. “Honestly. Haven’t you spoken to anyone in the last few months?” 

I shook my head sadly. “Not since April. And that was really brief and all about By. I just think everyone wants to stay out of it.” 

“Or maybe they’re waiting for you to reach out, like I was,” Haley corrected gently. I sighed; I should have known better than to not call her sooner. “So if you haven’t spoken to anyone, you don’t know my other news, either.” 

“Nope.” I wasn’t up on anything with anyone on the East Coast. I’d deleted my MyFriends page back in May in a fit of pique and it was something I really regretted. “Is it big news?” 

“The biggest.” 

Haley was usually all about big reveals and dramatic statements, so I waited for her to drop a bombshell. She didn’t say anything and I found my imagination running wild. She’d said ‘my news,’ not ‘our news’, but I had a feeling that’s what she meant. “You’re not….” 

“I’m not pregnant,” she insisted quickly. 

I rolled my eyes. She wouldn’t have considered that good news and been so excited, given her circumstances. Hay had always said that children were something she saw in her future…but her very distant, ten-years-or-more future. “No, silly. Getting married?” 

“We are!” she squealed. “Can you believe it? I always insisted I’d never be that silly young bride who marries the first guy she dates, but…” 

“But you got extremely lucky and found the love of your life when you were seventeen.” I found it actually hurt to say that. I’ve always hated it when I was jealous of others, but that was definitely the right emotional descriptor at that moment. “Wow, Hay. That is so… congratulations.” That was the only thing I felt I could say without sounding a little bitter. “So do I need to start booking tickets now, or…?” 

I’d let that ‘or’ dangle on purpose. Maybe, given the circumstances with Byron, she wouldn’t want me at her wedding. “No, don’t do that,” she insisted hastily, and then realized how it sounded. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to find tickets that far out. We definitely want you there.” 

“How far out are we talking?” My dad sometimes flew me back to L.A. rather than sending me bus tickets, and he could get tickets a whole year in advance. 

“May 22nd, 2010?” she said, once again phrasing her statement as a question. “That’s still more than two and a half years away. A lot could have changed by then.” 

That was one long engagement, but then, what did I know? I only had my dad and mom to base things on, and their engagements for their second marriages had been short and shorter. “A lot can change in a short time, too,” I observed. 

Haley stopped sounding excited and dreamy and came back to earth. “We’re living proof of that, aren’t we?” she said. I shook my head, feeling lost and hurt again until she kept speaking. “I want to be kept up with what’s going on with you, Jeff. I don’t just want to hear from you when you have a rough patch in your love life. Whether you and By get back together or not, you are my friend and I care about you deeply.” 

A different set of emotions bubbled up, but these were a lot happier. I felt loved and extremely grateful for non-judgmental friends who have your back no matter how far you fall. “Thanks,” I mumbled, afraid of how my voice would sound if I spoke any louder. 

“You’re welcome,” she replied softly. “Oh, and Jeff?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Happy birthday.” 

She had to go a short time later, when Jordan got out of the shower and the two of them started making dinner. I lay back on my bed, contemplating something I could do to take my mind off alcohol—and Byron’s date—for the rest of the night, when Ben came back in from his own shower. “Everything okay, Jeff?” he asked as I didn’t acknowledge his presence, choosing not to look away from the ceiling. 

“Nope,” I responded bluntly, still not looking at him. “Long story short, it’s my birthday, I have no life, my ex has a new boyfriend and all I really want to do is get so drunk I forget all about all of it.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Wow, that bites.” 

“Yup.” 

Ben leaned on my bedpost, looking uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know what to say or do. “Well, do you want me to get smashed with you?” he asked, looking at a stain on the carpet instead of me. I got the feeling he didn’t really mean what he was offering. 

I shook my head, still just watching him out of the corner of my eye. “I’m 53 days sober. Just one more week until I get my sixty day chip, and I don’t want to screw that up now.” Ben sat down hard at the foot of my bed and I finally looked at him. Annette had been right about telling him the truth, as much as I didn’t like admitting that. “What I need is something to distract me from my life for the evening, so that I don’t drink.” 

He got a look in his eyes that I recognized on Adam. “I think I know just the thing,” he insisted. 

I learned two—no, three—things that night. First, an evening spent at Chuck E. Cheese, playing skee ball surrounding by screaming kids, was actually more fun than it sounded. Second, while it was enough of a distraction to prevent me from drinking, it wasn’t enough of a distraction to prevent me from _wanting_ a drink (or a gun, to shoot the animatronic singers). 

Finally, though, I found out that if you trust people, most of them will surprise you…in a good way. 

***

_Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end_  
Closing Time 

**Perry**

Some people might think a Thursday date is a little odd, but then, I’m also a little odd myself. Byron was, unlike me, a working man; his schedule, between school, homework and the youth home, was pretty tight. The only nights he was really free were Thursdays and Saturdays. Thursday seemed slower paced and more easygoing; a date on that night seemed like it was less pressure. 

Despite agreeing to the date, Byron had seemed less than excited about our plans when I left his place that morning. I’d spent the past few weeks telling myself that it was just nerves and that he’d be fine once we actually were out. I’d be nervous, after all, if I were a self-defined ‘giant introvert nerd’ who, at age twenty-one, was going on my second ‘first date’ ever. I almost believed myself, too, despite nagging thoughts that the only reason he’d agreed to go out with me was to get me to stop asking. 

To take my mind off of it entirely, I focused in on my wardrobe and other small details. Buzzy came home about an hour before I was going to pick By up. He doesn’t technically live with me and never has, but we have been friends for so long that we basically treat each other’s apartments as our second homes. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked me. 

I looked up from my wardrobe selection. “What the hell are you _wearing_?” I countered. Buzzy was wearing an actual honest-to-Pete suit, which was really odd. He’d recently started a job as a buyer for a local store that catered to a, as they put it, ‘flamingly gay’ clientele, so it wasn’t unusual for him to come by looking like a drag queen or a stereotypical queer man from any television show, in tight clothes and bright colors. This was something totally out of character for both his workplace and him. 

“I had to meet with the president of a company that’s a little more conservative than I’m used to, so I thought I should play the part,” he answered smoothly. Buzzy is really Barnard Brock Harrington IV, and he grew up down the street from me in Paradise Cay. Both of us had taken dance lessons and etiquette school and gone to cotillions with sweaty palmed debutantes, while secretly taking guys out to the golf course sand trap after the country club was closed. We’d come out to each other long before we’d come out to anyone else. “Don’t deflect my question with a question, Perry. What are you doing?” 

I frowned at a chambray button down shirt that kept drawing my attention over and over. It was one of my favorites, but that meant By had seen me wear it a thousand times. That might be good—reminding him of the relationship we already had and the fact that we were comfortable together—or it might backfire. “I’ve got a date tonight and I’m trying to decide upon an outfit.” 

Buzzy surveyed the piles of clothes on the bed. “It must be big,” he noted. “The more clothes you drag out, the more serious you consider the prospects.” I shrugged at him, picking up a bowling shirt with the name Horace embroidered on the pocket and then tossing it aside. Buzzy’s perfectly waxed eyebrows knitted together for a minute and then rose in surprise. “Not Byron,” he sputtered after a moment. I didn’t acknowledge the comment because I didn’t like the tone. “Don’t tell me you were actually serious about that,” he continued as I kept sorting clothes, tossing aside obvious rejects. “I thought that was your joke crush, like my secret stalking of Channing Tatum.” 

I finally looked at him. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” I admitted. 

Buzzy brushed aside a pile of rejected pants and sat down on the chair they’d previously been occupying. “That is big,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he got it. Buzzy is the kind of guy who will probably never settle down; he’d probably never been in love or even wanted to be. For him it’s more fun to go out, meet guys, and go home with someone different every night. I’d done some of that and it was alright, but I didn’t like the side effects: the hangovers. The twice-yearly STI tests. The emptiness in realizing that those guys were just one-night stands and didn’t give a fuck about my feelings beyond that exact moment. “So what are the plans for this momentous occasion?” 

“Dinner at a cozy little café in Berkeley, and then a walk back to his place.” 

“That’s it?” Buzzy exclaimed. “That’s all? I would have expected that you would have pulled out all the grand, romantic gestures. Dinner somewhere fancy and expensive. A carriage ride across town, followed by a proclamation of undying love.” 

I contemplated a white, see-through button down that would have looked more at home half-open on the cover of a romance novel than on my skinny body. I wondered briefly why I’d even bought it, then tossed it aside. “I don’t want to scare him away,” I replied. 

Buzzy shook his head. “Why?” he asked me, and I sat down hard on the bed, finally giving him my full attention. “He’s got to know how you feel. I mean, you find every excuse to spend time with him and you’re always flirting with him. He agreed to go on a date, so he must return your feelings on some level.” 

I wished I could be that confident about it. “In either case, I just want to start off slow. Let’s see how this date goes before I break out the horse and carriage or the declarations.” 

Buzzy leaned forward, his brow still furrowed. I still don’t think he completely understood, but he was more sympathetic. “Well, since you’re looking for fashion advice, I’m going to give you the best advice anyone can ever give you on any topic. Go with your gut.” He leapt out of the chair and picked up the chambray shirt. “You keep coming back to this shirt, over and over. Trust your instincts, Perry, my brother.” 

*** 

As much as I hated following any piece of advice that Buzzy ever gave me, I had to admit he was right this time. Well, his advice about my attire, at least. I’d found some niggling little concerns in the words he clearly didn’t say that evening, and they added to the feeling I had that something wasn’t quite right. 

I took a taxi from my place in NoPa to By’s place in Berkeley. Before I’d met him, I’d had an image of what Berkeley students were like: Birkenstocks. Shaggy, unwashed hair, possibly in dreads, and an out of control beard. Dirty clothes that reek of pot. But Byron definitely killed that vision. He wore sweater vests and cardigans over button down shirts, sometimes even with a bow tie, and his hair was neatly coiffed. I’m not sure he would even know what to do with a joint if someone handed one to him, and he didn’t drink. The only part of him that belied any traditional Berkeley sense of rebellion was his shoes. Despite being twenty-one and working a full-time externship in a Serious Field, he still wore Converse sneakers nearly every day. He must have had ten different pairs in different colors. 

I stood out front of his building. He had two more things to move on Friday and then he turned in his keys; this was the last time I’d probably look at the ragged old bricks, the last time Mrs. Metzsky would open her window and tell me to quit loitering. I sighed as I buzzed the doorbell and heard the familiar click of the door unlocking remotely. I didn’t start to feel that nervous excitement I’d expected to experience until I was on the third floor. This _was_ going to go well. I was going to have a good time and so was Byron. In fact, we were going to have such a positive experience that this would be the first of many dates. I talked the date up with every step I took, so that by the time I reached the fourth floor, I had us picking out furniture for a shared apartment. I shook myself; that was taking things a little _too_ far. One date at a time, Perry. One date at a time. 

By was waiting for me in his doorway, leaning on the jamb. He was dressed pretty much exactly as I expected, in a pair of gray slacks, a white button down, a gray sweater vest, and a red bow tie and Converse. But his posture spoke volumes. His shoulders were slouched forward and one toe was nervously tapping. One hand was gripping the molding around the outside of his door, while the other appeared to be doing the same thing on the other side. “Hey, By,” I called casually as I neared him. 

He’d been watching my approach in a vague sort of way, not making eye contact but clearly following me all the same. Now he looked into my eyes and smiled, but the expression on his face was unchanged. I leaned in and gave him a single cheek kiss and as I straightened back up, I visibly saw him relax. He returned the gesture. “Ready to go?” 

Byron nodded and grabbed his keys off the counter, locking the door behind him. I watched as he smoothly carried off the moment and then stood up straighter than he had been. I can’t exactly read his mind or anything, but I had to guess that he was feeling a little relieved. His smile was more genuine now, and he stopped looking like he wanted to be anywhere but with me. “Where are we headed?” 

“You ever eat at Mauricio’s?” I asked him as I headed down the street. (You can’t hail a taxi from By’s little side street in a bad neighborhood, so I wanted to catch one from the main road.) Byron took a minute, trying to place the name, then shook his head. I’d been counting on that; it was the kind of romantic little nook that wouldn’t have been Jeff’s style but should appeal to By’s sensitive side. 

When we arrived outside Mauricio’s, By tried to hand me some cash to cover the taxi ride. “Put your money away,” I insisted. “Everything’s on me tonight.” Not only could I afford to splurge while he definitely couldn’t, but I also wanted to prove that I intended to treat him right. He and Jeff had always gone Dutch or paid out of their shared money. It was rare that he was treated without expectation or occasion. 

The restaurant was quiet, with private little alcoves and low lighting, perfect for assignations and rendezvous when you didn’t necessarily want the whole world seeing what you were doing. I led Byron down the narrow aisles between tables and booths to one in the corner. “Come here often?” he asked after we’d turned down an offer to sample the wine of the day. 

I looked him over the top of my menu. There was a lot more to that question than the small talk on the surface. He was feeling out whether this was a routine for me. If I brought every guy I was ever interested in to this place, then any meaning he might be able to find in this date would evaporate. “I’ve been here twice before,” I answered truthfully. By hadn’t picked up his menu, but he wasn’t fidgeting like he normally would be in this situation. His hands were folded on top of the table, and he was watching me seriously, maintaining eye contact. I think he’d heard enough stories about my romantic foibles to not take the date seriously. 

His eyes flashed briefly, but he tried not to let me see it. “So…what’s good, then? What do you usually eat?” He reached for his menu. 

I set my own menu aside, placing my fingers carefully on his before he could pick it up. “I’ve come here twice,” I repeated. It was time for some flat-out honesty. “But I’ve never brought anyone here before. I just thought it was the right blend: romantic but not assuming too much; not fast food but not the priciest place on the block. You mean a lot to me, By. I want to show you that without scaring you.” I picked up my menu. “That said, the pasta here is all made by hand. It’s absolutely fabulous.” 

Byron relaxed after that and our conversation became a lot more pleasant. He was clearly making an effort not to appear timid or afraid, and I could see he was legitimately having a good time. He’s one of those people that you can just _know_ what they’re thinking, between their facial expressions and their general appearance. He was the king of the slouch when he was nervous, but when he was in a place where he felt safe, he stood up so much straighter and talked animatedly. The less his hands moved in jittery ticks and the more he spoke with them, the more comfortable he felt. By the time we finished our dinner, he was no longer tapping at his knees but instead using his hands to show how big one of the pastries on the dessert tray was. He had definitely stopped being afraid. 

By contrast, I felt weird about our night out. I enjoyed his company—I always do—and it was good to sit so close to him. I had to put serious effort into not picturing our whole future together, or reaching across the table and grabbing his hand while he expertly spun and ate his spaghetti without making a mess. But at the same time, there was something between the two of us, and I wasn’t sure what it was. He didn’t seem to be holding back, so why should I? I wanted to touch him, and giving him a quick kiss before we left the restaurant would have been perfect. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

It was twilight by the time we headed back to his place, slightly cooler than the stifling August head we’d been subjected to earlier in the day. We walked side by side, silently at first, but it wasn’t an awkward quiet. And when we did start talking, it was natural, easygoing and without nerves. 

But it wasn’t without some sense that something was off. We walked close together but without being on top of each other. It felt comfortable and right. Occasionally our hands would bump or brush together, which didn’t exactly bother me either. Yet every time, Byron would make the same expression, one I couldn’t read. He bit his lower lip, generally a message of discomfort, yet his posture and other body language told me he’d relaxed. He had me confused. 

We arrived at his building after about half an hour of meandering. “Well, I guess this is it,” I announced. I wasn’t naïve enough to expect to be invited inside. 

“Guess so,” he confirmed in a half mumble, looking down at his shoes. He shuffled one Converse on the dirty sidewalk for a moment before he met my eye. “I had a good time tonight.” 

I grinned, feeling a bit more relaxed. “Does that mean we’ll be doing this again sometime soon?” 

He replied with a small, lopsided smile of his own. “You can count on it.” 

“Good. I really enjoy your company, By. I want this to work out.” 

I leaned in to peck his cheek, but Byron took me by surprise. He turned his head as I approached, his lips meeting mine. It was gentle kiss, short and to the point. His mouth was soft and warm and tasted vaguely of garlic bread. I brushed a hand through his hair as we separated, and he held my gaze. I suddenly understood his expression earlier: he’d been working up the nerve to try to reach for my hand, looking disappointed every time the moment had passed. 

By held my gaze for a moment longer before he turned toward the stairs. “Call me,” he insisted from just outside the building vestibule, just before he inserted the key in the door. I raised one hand in a silent goodbye, just watching him go. Byron stopped inside the door, looking back at me. I was still standing there like a moron, my right hand held in suspended animation next to my head, a stunned expression on my face, as he disappeared up the stairs. I finally lowered my hand and brought it to my lips; I could still feel his touch, a phantom kiss. 

I felt most of my doubt about Byron dissipate as I remained motionless on his front stoop. Sometimes, you think they know someone and then they surprise you like that. 

It really was a lovely evening. I decided to walk a while before I hailed a taxi to take me home. 

***

_Sometimes goodbye is a second chance_  
Second Chance 

**Byron**

Back in high school, my AP English teacher told us students were we free to express ourselves in any language we saw fit, as long as we followed two simple rules. First, we had to be completely honest and genuine in everything we wrote. Second, we had to be ourselves and not just spout clichés and tired, hackneyed expressions. We had to be original. 

Although throughout my days I’d occasionally had problems with the first half of those rules—which I’d taken to heart and used in all of my communication through the rest of my schooling—I had never had a problem with the second until that Thursday night when I got home from my date with Perry. I’d sat down on my bed, which was the only piece of furniture left in my old apartment, trying to compose my thoughts. I’d never kept a journal the way most of my sisters had as they were growing up, but I had found that I basically did the same thing inside my head each night before I went to sleep. It helped sort through my negative thoughts and calm my brain enough to actually shut it off for the night. 

That night, though, I tried to find an original description of what I was feeling, and I kept coming back to _floating_ and _on cloud nine_. Ms. Marquez would have been horribly disappointed. I got off the bed, had a drink of water, washed my face and brushed my teeth, then settled back in to the same position, still fully dressed. By that time I’d progressed to _head rush_. It was definitely an improvement. 

I shook off the phrasing and replayed the night in my mind. I’d felt so childish when we’d left my house that I might as well have been dressed in a pair of Osh Kosh overalls and a striped shirt with one of those propeller beanies on my head. (Not that I’d ever worn one of those, or even known someone who’d worn one of those.) I could feel my arms shaking as we walked to the corner, and I knew Perry could read my nerves on my face. Come to think of it, childish wasn’t the right word. _Inexperienced_ , that was it. Perry had dated a lot of guys before; I’d heard stories. He was a smooth talker, able to turn my emphatic ‘no’ into a reluctant ‘yes’ more often than not. He was also much more experienced sexually than I was, and although I didn’t think that would be a problem on this first date, I couldn’t remove the thought from my brain entirely. 

As the night had progressed, I’d forgotten about sex and just concentrated on the moment in front of me. I could hear Hay’s voice playing in my head over and over again: _You need to stop sitting back and letting everyone else dictate your love life._ I was a grown man by society’s standards , and yet I’d never asked anyone out. I’d never flirted with someone on purpose. I’d never made that first move. Damn, I hate when she’s right about…well, anything. 

I started looking for opportunities to make a move one direction or another. When he leaned in for our traditional ‘faux-European, faux-fabulous’ cheek kiss, I knew the time had come. Kissing Perry was different than any other kiss I’d ever experienced, but that made sense—I’d only ever kissed one person before. Perry was slightly shorter than Jeff, with broader shoulders. His lips were a different shape and even sorta tasted different. I lay down on my bed, spread eagle, taking up as much space as possible. The whole experience had been glorious. I’d taken charge for once—meek and mild Byron Pike, making the decisions, taking the first step. 

I sat bolt upright in my bed. It seemed to me that all of the positive, floaty feelings had more to do with me than with Perry. Perry himself seemed to be lost in the shuffle, just the vessel leading me to happiness. It was the kind of comment Jordan had made one time last summer when Adam had been trying to coax one of our barely-legal neighbors out on a date with him: _He’s just trying to get her into bed; she could be any warm body._ Was I using Perry as a warm body, a way to make myself feel better? 

It couldn’t be. I liked Perry; we were very good friends. I enjoyed being with him tonight. It was just icing on the cake that I’d made that move with him, right? 

And anyway, I wasn’t _that_ guy. I didn’t go for indiscriminate flirting, obviously, and I couldn’t even picture trying to bring some random guy home just so I could get off. Perry was interested in me, and I liked him. That wasn’t using him. Right? 

Besides, no one else seemed interested in me, besides Jeff. And I was over Jeff…wasn’t I? 

I wasn’t getting anywhere in shutting down my brain. I stripped down to my boxers and turned off the light, hoping to get a good night’s sleep. I had a long day ahead of me tomorrow. 

*** 

I’d had no idea just how long my day was going to be when I biked into school the next morning. I’d slept about four hours, fitfully, the night before and had finally given up and left half an hour earlier than normal. My homework was all done, so I shot Haley a quick email about my date and then opened up one of my text books and started reading ahead. I’d been purposely vague in my note, knowing she’d flip out if she heard too much but that if I didn’t send her anything, she’d hound me for information: 

To: je11y_6ean_h  
From: byronp86  
Subject: my night  
Hey, Hay,  
Had a good time last night. Perry and I went to a bistro called Mauricio’s. He had lasagna and I had spaghetti. I managed to not get any on my shirt, you’ll be glad to know. We walked back home together, just enjoying the night.  
I’ve got class all day today, then I have to work, then Charlie and Mel and I are moving my bed over to their place. I have to work tomorrow too, then I’ve got plans, so I’ll email you more on Sunday, okay?  
Love, By 

I should have known that would never work. When I came out of class an hour later, she had sent me a long, frantic-sounding email. Along with several threats to call Charlie’s place—she already had the number—every fifteen minutes that evening until I showed up, she included the following line: 

_If you think that you are going to get away with fobbing off half-truths on me, By, you are sadly mistaken. You_ know _you’d be better off telling me the whole truth right away, because I can read you like a book, even with thousands of miles and the whole Internet between us._

I had to smile and shake my head at that, even as I was silently cursing her. It was the same thing Jeff had told me once, although he’d been talking about phone calls, not emails. I pushed the thought from my head. Even though I was going to see him the next night, I didn’t want to focus on Jeff and the past right then. 

He wasn’t cooperating with that concept, though. While I was composing a carefully worded response to Hay telling her to stick it where the sun don’t shine, he sent me an email. I finished my message to Haley before I opened his missive. It was short and to the point. _Had a bad week this week, looking forward to tomorrow. my roomate has a bunch of movies, do u want to pick 1 up still or just see what he has? let me no._

I didn’t answer him right away. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten that we were hanging out the next night, exactly. I had just put it on the Jeff-shelf while I was out with Perry. My Saturday evening plans were such a mixed-bag of emotions for me. I was looking forward to spending time with Jeff, but afraid of what expectations he had for this meeting. I wanted to be able to joke around with him, to talk like we had the last time we’d seen each other. But I felt dread about the way things _might_ go. 

I finally sent back a short but sweet reply. “I’ll be there around sevenish. Let’s be gamblers and see what your suitemates have.” With that, I put both Jeff and Perry out of my head and focused exclusively on my classes and work. There’s nothing better than a room full of emotionally disturbed juvenile delinquents to make you forget your own troubles. 

*** 

That’s how things continued until late that night as Charlie and I were struggling to roll my mattress over the railing on the stairs from the fourth floor to the third floor of the stairwell in my old building. (There were supposed to be a couple of other people helping us but they’d bailed for one reason or another.) Much like the last time I’d helped move furniture, we were sweating and cursing. Charlie’s a slightly built guy and neither one of us has much upper body strength. We’d finally managed to haul it over the railing when we lost our collective grip on it and it thundered dangerously toward the door to the third floor with a sickening thud. “This looks like fun,” a voice called from halfway down the next flight of stairs. 

“Perry!” I exclaimed as he appeared around the corner. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to watch your misfortune here,” he commented with a smirk. He leaned against the railing, his head settled on the mattress encasement. 

“Either help or go away,” I insisted with a grumble, knowing which he’d pick. I walked down and gripped the end of the mattress. Charlie followed my lead and slid down the railing behind me, but he paused as he got a good look at Perry and that’s when I remembered my manners. “Perry, this is Charlie Wright. Charlie, this is Perry Blankenship.” 

Charlie looked him up and down and grinned. “So you’re _the_ Perry,” he said idly, reaching his hand out for a shake. 

Perry returned it gladly. “I guess that makes you _the_ Charlie,” he retorted. 

“That’s me,” Charlie agreed as he took the far end of the mattress. Perry watched us for a second before he gripped the middle. He wasn’t exactly dressed for dirty work—he wore a second hand bowling shirt with the name Horace on it, which would have been old clothes to anyone but Perry with his penchant for ‘ironic’ attire. With his assistance, the mattress was quickly down the stairs. Charlie tied it to the top of Mel’s itty bitty late 80s Ford, which was already laden down with bed rails and the footboard, and then drove off. “I have to pick Mel up from work, and the two of us will get this crap into the apartment and then be back for load two,” he’d said before he’d zoomed off. “Good thing we live on the ground floor, huh, Byron?” 

Perry and I were left alone in front of the building. “Come on,” I called from the top of the stairs. “If we can get everything else down the stairs before they get here, this will go a lot faster.” 

He followed gamely, waiting until we were on the second floor to say anything. “I had a good time last night,” he finally announced. 

Perry was a couple steps behind me and slightly to my right, and I looked at him over my shoulder. “Me, too,” I said. 

He smiled grandly. “Does that mean that we’ll be doing it again very soon?” he asked hopefully. 

I had to admire his enthusiasm. Obviously, whatever doubts I’d been having the night before hadn’t shown through; he was oblivious. “Count on it.” 

We quickly hauled all the bedding and the headboard down the stairs. I’d wanted to wait until Charlie and Mel got back to move the box spring, but Perry pointed out that it was in two pieces and shouldn’t be that difficult to maneuver, and he’d turned out to be right. We sat down on the steps outside the building, the headboard and box springs leaning against the railing and two bags containing sheets, mattress pads and pillows next to our feet. It was safe to sit there only because it was long past Mrs. Metzsky’s bedtime. I was honestly more afraid of her than I was of the junkies and thugs who made the street home. “So when are we going out again?” Perry asked, leaning back so that he was looking up toward the light-polluted sky. 

I leaned back beside him, a step lower and just far enough away that we weren’t touching. “You know my schedule,” I reminded him. I stretched out a little farther and shifted toward him. It was times like this that I actually regretted living in the city, and that was only because this would have been more romantic and book-like if we were in the near dark, with the stars and the moon taking the place of the flickering, buzzing streetlights and porch lamps. 

Perry saw me moving his way and slid down a step, his butt inching toward mine. “That I do,” he conceded. He stretched one arm and I shifted so that it was around my shoulder. I can’t say I was comfortable, but that had more to do with the hard cement steps and old garbage under my body than Perry’s warm, strong arm. “So what about tomorrow night?” 

I shifted uncomfortably, but this wasn’t about the cigarette butts and old leaves under my ass. “I already have plans for tomorrow night,” I admitted. 

I had thought that was a neutral statement. It hadn’t been an ‘I don’t want to see you tomorrow’ or another brush off or anything. I’d meant it when I’d said that I wanted to see Perry again. But he seemed to be reading past the surface of that simple phrase. “What kind of plans?” he asked suspiciously. 

I instantly went on the defensive in response to his snippiness. “It’s not a date or anything like that,” I insisted. And even if it had been, what business was that of his? We’d gone out _once._ That didn’t make us an official couple and I was definitely free to see other people if I wanted. I didn’t say that though. I wasn’t really keen to start a fight, just defend myself. “I’m just hanging out with an old friend.” 

He wasn’t placated. “What friend?” 

I narrowed my eyes, irritated. Perry wasn’t normally like this. Sure, I’d seen him be a little possessive before, but it had been in a teasing manner: _You can’t be partners with Byron; he’s mine!_ “What difference does it make?” I growled. The more he kept at this, the more likely that fight would be. 

That was why, if I’d been having this ‘conversation’ with Charlie or Hay or one of my brothers, he or she would have backed off. Once I go on the offensive, pleasant discussion is over. Perry apparently hadn’t figured that out yet. “It’s Jeff, isn’t it?” he asked, his face pinched and his tone accusatory. “It is, isn’t it?” he repeated when I didn’t respond. 

I stood up, trying to put some distance between us. “I made plans with a friend,” I repeated through clenched teeth. “I think that’s all you need to know.” 

Perry scrambled to his feet, standing several steps above me. It looked to me like he was trying to show he was taking the higher ground; he was suggesting I was being sneaky by not telling him what my plans were. Or maybe I was just reading too much into it. “So what if I am going over to Jeff’s?” I asked, defiantly admitting what he already knew. “Why is that any of your concern? We’ve gone on _one_ date, Per. You can’t tell me who to be friends with.” 

Perry laughed a sputtering laugh. I’d heard that one before, usually after I’d misused some term he thought I should know. It was his ‘Byron’s so naïve and clueless and I need to show him the ways of the world’ laugh. Trust me, it really didn’t help matters. “You can’t be friends with the guy you dated for three years, the one who broke your heart. Trust me on this, By. You may think it will work out, but it won’t. You’re either back together or you’re completely separate. You need to let him go.” 

I folded my hands across my chest and set my face like a rock. “Are you completely finished?” I asked him. 

My whole demeanor at this point took him by surprise. I think he was expecting tears, or drama, or shouting. I wasn’t in the mood to give him any of it. He shifted his weight and eyed me critically. “Look, By, this is ridiculous. Do whatever you want. Call me when it’s worked out badly and you’re ready for a real adult relationship." With that, he stormed off. 

I wanted to sigh with relief after he left, but I didn’t feel relieved at all. Perry was right. Completely right. I didn’t want to admit it, but he was. There wasn’t any way that Jeff and I could go back to being ‘just friends’ after what we’d been through together. Some other couple, who’d each dated extensively before and who’d been kind of casual in their relationship? Maybe it was possible for them. But Jeff and I had just meant too much to each other. It was never going to happen. 

Still, Perry was being a complete ass about it. He wasn’t handling himself well, and while I don’t mind the occasional bit of mothering when I need it, but I didn’t need a guy—any guy—who wanted to tell me who to be or what I could do in life. I wanted to stand on my own two feet. I needed to learn to make my own mistakes and figure out who I was that way, not by someone else who thought they had my best interests at heart. 

I knew exactly what I needed at that point. I needed to not have a boyfriend. I needed to figure out exactly who Byron Pike was all on his own. I needed to finish my schooling and start earning money and become my own person. I could date, sure. I could even spend the night with a guy if I chose. But to have someone who thought their time was my time and who wanted me to make them a priority? That wasn’t in my immediate future. 

Realizing that, I felt taller than I ever had. Older. More mature. I’d never liked confrontation and I’d never liked making other people unhappy. But it was time to put Byron first, and I had a feeling that was going to make several people rather uncomfortable. 

Charlie and Mel showed up a short time later to find me standing on the stoop, just looking out into the August sky. “Everything okay?” Mel asked me. She’s small statured like Haley, but doesn’t have Hay’s giant, looming presence (which I always assumed came from her big mouth and urge to constantly tell me how I’m lacking as a human being.) Mel’s just as warm, but in a more standoffish, let-you-come-to-her kind of way. If she was asking, then I had to look like I was in complete turmoil. 

I shook myself slightly. “Actually,” I said slowly. “I’m better than I’ve ever been before.” 

Charlie cocked his head at me. He’s known me long enough to realize that I’d had some type of disagreement with Perry, hence my appearance and Perry’s absence. “Ready to start the next chapter of your life?” he asked me. 

I threw my arm around him and for the first time since Perry and I had sat in front of Mrs. Metzsky’s window, I smiled. “Ready or not…here it comes.” 

We loaded the car up and tied everything tightly in place. The two of them drove off and I followed on my bicycle, riding away from my past without even a backwards glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always made a concerted effort to make sure that the music in these stories was accurate to the time frame. (Don't ask me why, exactly, the triplets ended up with a 1986 birthdate. I can't explain that one.) That said, I bent the rule a little bit for this fic. First of all, don't take the actual topic of the song to have anything to do with the story itself. We all know (or might could easily find out) what Closing Time is really about. And even though Second Chance post dates 2007 by a couple years and is really about following your own dreams and not your parents', I couldn't pass it up. The "Haley's comet" line is just too priceless for 'By and Hay.' And I could picture her asking him why he's running in place. (Actually, she'd probably tell him to shit or get off the pot, but hey.)
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter three will be called One and will be from Jordan's point of view. Expect a little more of a hint as to what actually becomes of Jeff and Byron...either together or separately...in that one.


	3. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haley's always thrown Jordan curve balls.

It all started at two a.m. on New Year’s Day of 2008.

Actually, no. If you wanted to, you could trace this path back farther, to 2005, when we’d started college together, or to 2004, when we’d started dating. You could even go back a little more than five years to that day in late 2002 when Haley had said something sarcastic to Adam and tossed her head. Suddenly, she’d stopped being Byron’s best -friend/girlfriend/whatever and became this beautiful goddess. I couldn’t explain it any better than that if I wanted. She’d stopped being the pesty girl next door and started being the girl of my dreams. I’d tried to shake it then, but when I was still dreaming about her (naked, of course—I was sixteen) two weeks later, I eventually had to accept that this was just more than a crush. 

Back to two a.m., though. We usually celebrated Haley’s birthday with her family and then flew back to Gainesville just in time for me to start practice with the team again. But Dave and Jessica had gotten engaged sometime in the fall and Jessica’s parents threw them a New Year’s Eve engagement party. I’d teased Dave about stealing my thunder—after all, I’d gotten engaged first!—but was actually happy for the two of them. They were planning to get married in July, thrilled for a short engagement. It was funny to me to think that the two of them could have gotten engaged, married and possibly have had a kid in the amount of time Haley and I were supposed to be engaged. 

In any case, the two of us had taken a flight back on the 28th in order to attend the party. It had been lovely, I guess—formal and formaler weren’t really my style, but you don’t get to choose the types of parties your friends throw. I was blasting the heat in Haley’s car as I drove it back from Orlando to Gainesville. We could have gotten a motel room for the night, but Haley had pooh-poohed the idea, calling it a waste of money. And so I found myself sitting in the driver’s seat with my suit jacket off and my nice shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled, sweating to death in the car. 

Haley, for her part, had brought a pair of pajamas and changed into them, her dress in a garment bag in the backseat. She’d volunteered to drive, but her eyes were half open and she clearly wouldn’t make it the whole way. Instead, she was folded up in the passenger’s seat, her head slumped over on her shoulder. A little curl of drool was making its way out of her mouth as she slept, but if you ignored that, she didn’t get any cuter. 

I pulled over at an all-night convenience store/gas station. After I filled the tank, I popped inside for a little caffeine and a snack. When I came back to the car, Haley was sitting up, blinking sleepily and wiping away the drool. She must have just woken up. “Where are we?” she asked drowsily. 

“Dunno, exactly,” I said as I handed her a bag of Sun Chips. She looked at them for a second before setting them aside. “I think we’re still a ways from home, though.” 

“Hmm,” she answered, her eyes already closed again. 

“Haley?” 

“What?” 

“Okay if I turn on the radio? I’m gonna fall asleep if it stays quiet in the car.” 

She opened her eyes. “Let’s talk instead.” 

“Okeydokey.” I was in a strange mood. Talking to myself inside my head for the past hour had made me a little loopy. “What do you want to talk about?” 

Haley sat up straight and turned to me. Her eyes were still sleepy, but sometimes, that’s when you get the best conversations out of her. She’s more likely to be honest when she’s not awake enough to disagree just for the sake of disagreeing. “What are we doing for my birthday?” 

We have a tradition that whoever is having a birthday, the other one makes the plans. They can either be a surprise—like 2006, when she’d thrown me a huge surprise party with the whole baseball team—or wide open—like how she’d taken me for dinner a week before my birthday the year before, when I’d surprised her…and myself…by proposing. I’d wanted to wait until the summer, even though I’d bought the ring sometime in the fall. I’d known since I was nineteen that someday I’d ask her to marry me, but I hadn’t planned on it being _that_ moment. I’d just looked at her, smiling and laughing, and the words had slipped out of my mouth. I think the only person more surprised had been Haley. 

But in the end, she’d said yes. And here we were, almost nine months later, planning not a wedding but her birthday, which was four days later. “Well, stop me if you don’t like what you’re hearing,” I said, “but I thought we’d go for dinner some place sorta nice, so that we could have a champagne toast.” Haley yawned and nodded, urging me to go on. “After that, I’m stumped. Every time I try to convince you to go somewhere after a birthday dinner…or anniversary dinner…or anything like that…you never want to go where I suggest.” 

She laughed at the truthfulness of the statement. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I know it’s not usual for us, but I’ve got something planned for afterward, if you’ll follow my lead.” 

“I told you once, I’ll follow you anywhere.” 

Haley turned to me, her dimples and eyes the only things I could really see clearly in the darkness. “Okay, then. How nicely do I need to dress up?” 

I thought about that. I had reservations, but I wasn’t about to tell her where. I had to keep some semblance of mystery to the plans. “How about…nicer than my birthday dinner last year, but not as nice as tonight?” 

That was extremely vague, but she followed my train of thought anyway. “Got it. I’ve got just the right outfit, then. Want me to pick you out a tie for the night?” 

“Of course, honey.” She knows I have absolutely no sense of style or fashion. If it weren’t for her, I’d be a hot mess of attire most of the time. She was also the one who had suggested that my parents buy me the suit I’d worn that evening for Christmas, pointing out it would be good for job interviews. All three of my brothers had gotten the same thing as well. 

“I can’t wait,” Haley enthused. She rubbed her hands together and then placed one on my right hand, which was resting on the gear shifter. Despite the movement, they were cool to the touch; there’s a reason the heat was cranked up even though I was sweating and barely able to breathe. Sometimes, we have to make sacrifices for the ones we love. 

*** 

And so we found ourselves getting dressed that Friday evening in our small, cluttered bedroom. The apartment had come furnished, but there just wasn’t enough storage space. Eighty percent of the closet was Haley’s dresses and skirts and nice slacks, while I took up a small corner. But I owned most of the dresser, so it evened out. 

Such was the story of our life. 

We shared the full bed that took up most of the room. Haley had wanted to decorate it and make it look pretty, but for the most part, it was functional. I had to admit I liked the high-quality sheets and soft mattress topper she’d splurged on, though. When the bed was made, there was a thin cotton blanket under a thick down comforter decorated by a blue and white flowered cover. Most of the time, though, the blanket was on the left side of the bed—my side—while the comforter was on her side of the bed. I was always hot at night, and she was always— _always_ —cold. 

Haley had worn a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt for most of the day, but she shed them down to her skivvies to get changed. I was sitting on the bed, playing with the laptop I’d bought with my summer earnings, as she started stripping. “Aren’t you going to get dressed, sweetie?” she asked as she unbuttoned her shirt. 

“We have an hour,” I pointed out. “I’ll get dressed in about fifteen or twenty minutes.” I was trying really hard not to watch her as she walked around in her bra and panties. Since we did have to leave in an hour, and she’d need most of that time to dress and prep her hair and makeup, we didn’t have time to start anything. And if I watched her walk around like that, I’d get the urge to start kissing her and not want to stop. That wasn’t a good idea for a couple reasons. 

For the best part of a year, all I’d been hearing all sorts of reason—excuses—as to why the time wasn’t right yet. Some had been legitimate, while others were flimsy and ridiculous. And while I’d tried to be patient about it, it had been an exasperating and frustrating process. 

It had started with Valentine’s Day last year. Haley still insisted that she didn’t believe in celebrating Hallmark holidays, but we found some way to show our love that day simply because she thought it was ‘cute’ that I liked Valentine’s. I’d spent months preparing a grand, stupid romantic gesture: I’d had a friend teach me how to play the guitar and had played one of her favorite songs for her. The two of us had wound up in my bed, which wasn’t anything new, but the intent was different that night. I’d had a couple condoms stashed under a corner of my mattress for the whole school year as a form of wishful thinking, and for the first time, Haley had pulled one out. She was lying there next to me, making a futile attempt to rip the wrapper open, when Dave opened the door. 

He hadn’t seen anything, but it was enough for both of us to lose interest for the night. I’d tried to recreate the mood a week later, but Haley just kept thinking he might come through the door anytime. (Dave, for his part, had vowed to never barge in again when he knew Haley and I were in the room, but even that didn’t convince her.) 

The excuses had gotten more pathetic once we’d both moved out of the dorms. We couldn’t do things at my house because there were too many people around, despite the fact that there were only four of us kids home for most of the summer and they were all working. And you never knew when Matt might come through the door at her house, despite the fact that he couldn’t hear what _we_ were doing. Then we’d moved into our apartment with (unnecessary) help from her parents, who’d spent a week in Christina’s bedroom on an inflatable mattress. By the time they’d left, wishing us good luck, Aaron had already moved in. “I just want our first time to be special,” she’d said when I’d pointed out that it wasn’t like Aaron was going to judge us for doing something that he’d been teasing me for _not_ doing for three years. “I just want complete privacy, at least for that first time.” 

‘Complete privacy’ was not something that was easy—or even possible—to get with two roommates. Aaron and Chris seemed to have completely opposite schedules. And on weekends, if one of them went out for the night, the other was either holed up in their room studying or had a ‘friend’ over. Yet Haley would not bend, not even a little. 

Here we were now, with the school year halfway over. We’d been a couple for nearly four years now, engaged for almost nine months. And yet the two of us could not seem to come together to do one activity that many people our age managed to accomplish just hours after meeting each other. 

It was enough to drive the hormonal post-adolescent in me mad. 

There were a couple things that kept me going. First, there were those hormones, which kept raging no matter how much I tried to calm them. Then there was the knowledge that, if we were getting married, sex had to happen eventually. These were both small comforts, but when Haley snuggled up to my side at night and thanked me for being patient with her, I felt I could wait a little longer. 

And so I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she slid on a slinky blue-gray dress that somehow made her hair look even blonder. She left the room to fix her hair and polish up her makeup and I found a clean shirt to wear with my suit. As much as I’d been unamused at receiving that suit under the tree, it had already come in quite handy. 

I’d sat back at the computer, wearing my sweatpants and t-shirt, my bare feet twitching in time to the music, when she returned. Her hair—which she hadn’t cut once in the entire time we’d been together—was now very long, trailing halfway down her back when it was down. She’d twisted it up into an elegant style, leaving a few wisps on her neck. Normally she would have spotted me there and told me to get off my ass and start moving; we had twenty minutes and I still wasn’t dressed. But this time she had her cell phone in her hand and was squinting at the screen. “By just sent me a text message telling me to have a happy birthday,” she announced, not even really looking at me. 

“Byron?” I repeated, also not looking up from my screen. “Really?” 

“Mmhmm,” she acknowledged, still not looking away from her phone. “I think he got himself a cell phone.” 

The song ended and I closed the laptop. “What makes you say that?” Byron wasn’t exactly the modern-technology sort. He had a computer of his own, which he’d bought for school, but he rarely used social media or even went online for anything but school work. I couldn’t picture him buying a cell phone until he needed one for work someday. 

Haley leaned against the foot of the bed, facing the dresser rather than the bed. “I don’t recognize the number he sent it from,” she muttered as she fumbled with the keypad. It looked like she was setting the number into her contacts. 

“He could have just borrowed someone’s phone to send you the message.” 

“I thought of that,” she replied. “But listen to this.” She held the phone up and read the message in the voice she used to imitate Byron. “Don’t text me back because I have to pay for every message. Hope you have the best birthday. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love, By.” 

I set my computer aside and digested. I’d definitely have to agree that it sounded like Byron had joined the technological age. “I’m the last one of my brothers to get a cell phone,” I observed. “Even Nick has one.” 

“You’re just an old-fashioned guy,” Haley commented with a smirk as she closed her phone and set it on the dresser. “Nothing wrong with that.” She might have thought it was cute, but I was starting to feel like the world was passing me by. This past summer, my younger siblings had gathered around in the basement. I’d come home from work to find them giggling and reminiscing about the day two years earlier when we’d discussed who was a virgin and who wasn’t, completely humiliating Byron in the process. Nick, Margo and Claire were discussing the fact that Margo had been trying to guess when she’d lose her virginity based upon the average age the rest of us had been when we’d lost ours. Nick had a calculator out and was adding up to actually determine how close Margo had come to being ‘average.’ ‘I’ve got everyone else’s age when they popped their cherries,’ he’d said to me when I walked into the middle of the conversation. ‘I just need yours.’ It was then that I realized that every single one of my siblings was doing something I wasn’t. It shouldn’t have bothered me—and it wouldn’t have a year earlier—but now that I was so close, it did. 

“Anyway,” Haley continued, not noticing my change in expression, “why pay for a cell phone when you can just mooch mine?” I finally relaxed, not because she was teasing me (that was completely normal) but because I agreed that I didn’t need a cell phone when I had her. 

“So what is Byron up to these days anyway?” I asked, stretching out along the bed, spread eagle. 

“Who knows?” she replied with a laugh. Byron hadn’t come home for Christmas, choosing instead to go with Jeff to visit his father. When he’d called on Christmas day, Mom had tried to get him to disclose the nature of their relationship, but he kept hedging around it. Haley figured that they were slowly finding their way back to each other but didn’t want to ‘jinx’ anything. She turned around to make a joke—I could see it in her eyes—when she suddenly realized my appearance. “Jordan!” she exclaimed. “You told me you were getting dressed. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.” 

I smiled; I’d been waiting for that. “I only need a minute. Trust me, we won’t be late.” 

*** 

I’d never been to the restaurant before, but it wasn’t quite as fancy as I’d been led to believe. Haley, though, didn’t seem to care. She let me push her chair in for her and pored over the menu as if it were golden. “Did you want some wine or something?” I asked her after I ordered a beer. 

She looked at me over her menu, smiling, her dimples appearing just above the top. “No, thank you.” 

“You’re not going to drink?” 

Haley put her menu down, having decided upon an order. “No,” she repeated. “I’ll drink a little champagne, but I don’t see the point of any more than that. I’ve got my whole life to drink alcohol. I want to remember the rest of this night clearly.” 

I didn’t put any significance to that statement besides the surface value. “Fair enough,” I conceded with a shrug. I picked up my own menu and studied it briefly before coming to a decision. I always eat the same thing at Italian restaurants, anyway. 

We placed our orders shortly thereafter. After the menus are taken away, Haley usually snatches the dessert menu if one sits on the table, studying it and discussing what dessert she would have ordered if she was eating dessert for her main meal. I had spotted just such a menu in the corner, so I looked down at my napkin and unrolled it, quickly inspecting my silverware for water spots. (Adam had once jokingly suggested you could judge a restaurant by how much its flatware glistened, but I’d worked food service before. I wasn’t looking for shine but actual cleanliness.) After a moment I felt eyes on me and looked up. Haley hadn’t touched the menu; she wasn’t deciding between cheesecake and tiramisu. Instead she’d laid her hands on the table in front of her, her left hand on top of her right, her ring shining when the light hit it just so. (It was a small single diamond and not too much to admire, but she took care of it as if it were the most expensive engagement ring on earth.) “What’s up?” I asked her. 

She looked down at her ring as well. “Let’s talk about the wedding,” she said. 

Well. Now _that_ was surprising. I’d tried to bring the topic up several times, but she’d brushed off all the conversations, pointing out that it was all far too far in the future. She had consented to set a date, but even the vaguest of logistics seemed too much for her at that point. “What do you want to talk about?” 

“Well,” Haley said slowly, thinking out loud, “It’s too early for the two of us to actually make any bookings. I know because I looked at a few places out of curiosity. But there are more basic things we can discuss, like how big we want this wedding to be or where, approximately, we want it.” 

The way she was looking at me when she said that was the same look she gets on her face when she can’t make up her mind about what to cook for dinner or what movie to see. She wants me to start the suggestions…usually so that she can immediately disagree with whatever I say. “I was hoping we’d get married in Stoneybrook,” I began immediately. It was something I felt strongly about. 

“Fine,” she agreed with a small shrug. 

“Really?” It wasn’t so much that she was okay with getting married in Connecticut as that I couldn’t believe she didn’t want to argue with me. 

“Of course. It makes sense; it’s where all our relatives are.” Haley reached across the table and put her hand on mine for a moment, her tiny fingers barely resting on the backs of my knuckles. “Also, from a more romantic point of view, it’s also where we met. It’s where we fell in love.” 

I smiled. She doesn’t go for ‘romance’ very often, so when she waxes nostalgic, it’s always an unexpected treat. “And I was hoping you’d agree to get married in the church I went to when I was growing up.” 

Haley tilted her head to one side, watching me closely. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Now I was really surprised. I’d asked her to come to church with me—just to see what it was like—several times. She was never disrespectful of my religion but she wasn’t the slightest bit interested in setting foot into a church. Why would she want to get married in one? 

She chuckled. “I think that can be arranged. I mean, as long as the minister knows I’m a heathen with no intent of changing.” I shook my head at her slowly as she smirked, enjoying being just a teeny bit inappropriate. “Look, Jordan, I’m okay with a church wedding because I know it means a lot to you. I know you want to be married ‘in the eyes of God’ and not just in the eyes of the state. I also know that we didn’t really compromise when it came to this wedding—I told you what I wanted and you agreed to it without question—and I wanted to let you know that your voice matters too, and if something’s important to you, then it’s important to me.” 

I’d never told her that I’d been hoping to get married sooner—much sooner—than the date we’d set. But obviously she’d figured it out somehow; this was at least partly her way of thanking me for not rushing into the wedding. “So we agree then? Unless there’s some serious issue, we’ll be married at the church?” 

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “You can call them sometime soon and find out how far ahead you can book and what kind of down payment they require. My father said he’ll pay for the ceremony and ‘some basics’ of a reception, so I’ll have him make the reservation.” 

That floored me. Haley’s parents—or rather, her mother—had been less than thrilled with some of the choices we were making in our relationship. Haley had melodramatically replayed the conversation the two of them had had when she’d arrived at her parents’ house last May. We hadn’t told any of our family members—except Adam and Byron—about our engagement, preferring a personal, in-person touch. But neither one of us had stopped to think about how she was going to hide that ring. Her mother saw it immediately and got mad at her for keeping secrets. Mrs. Braddock had commented that her daughter was too young to get engaged…which Haley countered by pointing out that she was only a year younger than her mother was when _she_ got engaged, and that had worked out okay. But the part that had really stuck with me was the fact that my future mother-in-law had asked when _my_ dreams had become Haley’s dreams, and where her future was in this arrangement. I didn’t get it; Haley was the one who always seemed to have a road map to our future, not me. She was the one who had timetables and a straight line she wanted to follow for her life: Finish school. Get married. Get a law degree. Buy a house. Have children. All in that order. 

In any case, had a feeling the plans to pay for the wedding was an arrangement made on the sly between Haley and her father, who doted on his only daughter. It didn’t actually surprise me that he’d want to pay for at least part of the events, since he was a traditional kind of guy. Hopefully her mother would come around soon…or at least before he started doling out funds. “I’ll do that,” I told her, just happy to actually be planning the wedding at all. 

*** 

I’ll tell you the next thing I learned that evening: Haley loved champagne. I don’t know if it was the taste or the bubbles or just the significance of clanking our glasses together that she enjoyed most, but she ended up drinking three full glasses. Given how petite she is and the fact that she doesn’t drink too often, alcohol tends to go straight to her head. She’d wanted to keep her head clear, and while I wouldn’t say she was drunk, I would call her slightly tipsy. “I’m okay,” she insisted as I tried to help her out of her chair. “I think I just need a little time.” 

I’d held her arm as we walked back to the car. The evening was slightly rainy and cooler than normal. I wasn’t wearing anything over my suit jacket and there was a nip to the breeze, making me shiver. Haley was wearing a winter coat, which was normal for her in the winter months, even in Florida. Our friends chuckled and shook their heads at her. Those who’d been raised in the south often wore clothing that would have made me sweat profusely in the weather because, to them, it was cold, but they expected every northerner to think that the weather was pure paradise all the time. 

I opened Haley’s door and helped her into the car. At that level of intoxication, her brain power was unaffected but her coordination was less than perfect. I got behind the wheel to drive. The car was Haley’s same Lexus that her parents had given her for her seventeenth birthday, but she now referred to it as _our_ car. She retained the title, but I was fully insured to drive it. It had been a decision she’d made just after being granted a parking pass at school the year before, and when she’d told her parents (who, until then, had been paying her insurance), her mother had been absolutely apoplectic. Mrs. Braddock and I got along just fine, so I couldn’t understand the problem. “What are we doing now?” I asked Haley, shaking off thoughts of her mother. 

She leaned against the back of the car seat, looking at me with the kind of sparkly eyes that come partly from admiration and partly from alcohol. “Let’s just drive around for a while,” she insisted. 

“Didn’t you have plans for us for the evening?” I asked as I put the key in the ignition. It was her birthday and I was willing to do whatever she wanted, but I didn’t want her to forget what her goal had been. 

“Yes,” Haley agreed. “But we don’t have reservations; this is something we can do whenever we want.” 

I was picturing sitting in front of the television, watching one of her favorite movies. It didn’t sound like a bad way to spend the evening, but not exactly special. If that was what she wanted, though… “Okay, honey.” I turned the car on and put it in reverse, backing out of the parking spot. 

We drove around town, the windshield wipers flapping a beat. The radio had been playing, but Haley turned it off as we turned onto the street. For a minute she was silent, looking out into the streets she’d spent the last two and half years seeing. At first I thought she was seeing it all with new (drunken) eyes, but a moment later she spoke, making me realize she was calculating. “Did you realize,” she queried, “that we’ve been a couple for three years, eight months and three weeks, and we’re getting married in two years, four months, two weeks and four days?” 

I laughed. “You must be less drunk than I thought if you’re doing math.” 

Haley gave a little half smile. “Doesn’t that sound amazing, though? We’ll have been together for more than six years when we get married. That’s a long time.” 

Without looking away from the road, I reached my hand toward her. She knew what that meant and she took it in both of hers. Despite the heat going full blast in the car, her hands were always cold. “That’s nothing,” I said as she squeezed as hard as she could. “I want to live to be a really old man, and I want you to be with me every step of the way.” 

She looked down at her lap, almost as if she were shy. “We could be married for seventy-five years if we live long enough.” 

I guided our lump of hands over toward me and kissed it. I think the gravity of a nice long marriage was hitting her for the first time. “Let’s hope we’re that lucky.” 

*** 

I took the long way home, driving for nearly an hour. By then, Haley was pretty well sobered up. Our building is an older one, far enough off campus to be less a part of the hustle and bustle of college life but close enough that you can still catch the university shuttle in walking distance. The four of us had picked it because it was slightly cheaper than the closer housing and came ready to move in. Aaron and Chris had never met before they agreed to move in with us, but the two of them had learned to get along. We’d all found a way to respect one another’s space. 

I unlocked the door for Haley and she dropped her purse on a cheap, wobbly table Chris had picked up at a thrift store. Our whole living room was a mishmash of different styles and sensibilities. All of Aaron’s stuff was hand-me-down from his grandparents, while Chris liked to shop mostly at discount stores. Haley would rather go without something if she didn’t have the money to buy a higher-quality version, while I just plain didn’t care about stuff like furniture or decorating. “Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom,” she announced as she ditched her coat over the arm of the green plaid couch that came with the apartment. 

I nodded my understanding, even though she’d already disappeared into the single shared bathroom. (I’d gotten used to sharing a bathroom with three other people throughout my college years; this one was a lot cleaner, given that half of the apartment’s occupants were female and actually cared about cleanliness.) I absentmindedly picked up her coat and hung it on the coat rack. Remembering my earlier thought about movies, I rummaged around in the kitchen, looking for some microwave popcorn I recalled seeing there before we left for Connecticut. 

I heard the toilet flush as I was digging behind some seldom-used storage containers, but I didn’t turn around even when Haley reappeared a moment later. “What are you doing over there?” she asked from around the corner. 

“Nothing,” I called back. I’d found the popcorn box, but it was empty. I was just about to mentally curse whoever had eaten the last bag and then put the box back…when I realized it was probably me. “You want anything to eat?” 

“Jordan!” she exclaimed. “We just ate a huge Italian dinner, complete with a giant helping of tiramisu. How in the hell can you still be hungry?” 

I tossed the bowl I’d taken out for the popcorn back in the drawer, since I wasn’t really hungry anyway. “I’m not, really. Just feeling...peckish.” 

“Well, get your peckish butt back in here, okay?” 

I grinned at the ‘poetic’ sentiment; that’s my girl. When I came back into the living room, I expected to find Haley, her hair down, wearing sweatpants, slippers and her plaid flannel, wrapped up in her blanket, the remote in her hand. In reality, only one of those things was true. Her hair was loose, cascading in waves down her shoulders, which were still bare. She was leaned against the doorjamb to the bathroom and even from across the room, I could see goose bumps raised on her arms. “Aren’t you cold?” I asked her. 

“Mmhmm,” Haley agreed from across the room, still not moving. 

I leaned on the back of the couch, paying more attention to the various pillows and throws that were tossed all over the place than to her. She usually leaves her favorite blanket on the couch, but it wasn’t in the mishmash. “Maybe you should do something about that.” 

“I’m trying to,” Haley asserted. I had grabbed an old army blanket of mine from the pile, figuring that would make a worthy substitute, and was shaking it free from the rest. Haley watched me for a moment and, realizing I wasn’t really paying attention to her, changed her tone of voice. “Jordan!” she huffed. I finally looked over at her; if you ignore her when she gets frustrated, everything goes downhill. “Are you going to come over here and warm me up or not?” 

I tossed down my blanket sheepishly, embarrassed that I hadn’t recognized her intent. Two steps had me across the room, and I wrapped my arms around her. Haley put her arms inside my jacket, squeezing me tightly. Normally I would have taken off my jacket and given it to her, but the way she was gripping me, I couldn’t really move. “Guess you weren’t thinking of a movie tonight,” I murmured as she buried her face in my chest. 

“A movie?” she repeated, muffled by my shirt. I kissed the top of her head and she looked up at me with a smile. “No. My thoughts were in a different room all together.” 

I raised my eyebrow. “Is that a come on?” I asked. 

Haley laughed. “You’d think we’ve been together for long enough that we wouldn’t have to have this type of conversation.” 

I shook my head at her. “I thought you thought this kind of banter was…cute.” 

Haley finally let go of my middle and took one hand. “I think you’re cute. We’ll worry about all the rest later.” 

I let her pull me slowly into our bedroom. Our two roommates had let us have the biggest room, but it wasn’t without drawbacks. The room sat in the corner, with Aaron’s room against one wall and Chris’s against another. A third wall abutted a neighboring apartment. We could hear everything they were doing, and they could hear us. None of that mattered tonight, however, with neither of our roommates coming back for at least thirty-six hours and the neighboring apartment silent. Haley had put fresh sheets on the bed earlier and now she peeled back her down comforter and laid it across her dresser. I sat down on the edge of the bed and beckoned to her. She stood between my legs and I held her face for a moment before she bent over to kiss me. It could have been like any other night until she pulled away for a second, standing in front of me in that lightweight spaghetti-strapped dress and whispered words I’d been waiting a long time to hear. “I’m ready.” 

I stood up, partly out of surprise and partly because she was easier to reach that way. “Haley?” I questioned. “Are you sure?” 

“Completely,” Haley assured me. I touched her cold arm gingerly, as if I expected it to burn with my touch, and she inched toward me. “I’ve been ready for a long time, and tonight everything has fallen into place. I want this to happen.” 

I took a deep breath and found I was shaking. Nearly four years, and now it looked like tonight was the night. I’d been ready for this ever since she’d started at the University of Florida two and a half years earlier. But suddenly the pressure seemed like too much. She’d clearly put all this buildup into this, making plans for probably a couple weeks. What if I didn’t live up to her expectations? “How about we just start off slow?” I suggested, more for my benefit than for hers. “Let’s see where the night takes us.” 

Haley smiled. “Foreplay,” she acknowledged, and I had to grin. We’d overheard a conversation back in October between Aaron and his most recent girlfriend about how he needed to learn the meaning of the word. 

I kissed her again, the two of us standing in half-darkness in our bedroom. Before we’d left, Haley had made sure the blinds were closed and had sprayed the room down with air freshener, a move I hadn’t understood until now. She removed my jacket and tossed it on the floor and I pulled her closer, drawing her into my arms. Haley is about nine inches shorter than I am and we quickly learned that kissing standing up results in her in on her tiptoes and me with a crick in my neck, so it wasn’t long until we were sitting on the bed, her fingers furiously and clumsily working the buttons on my shirt. “Whoa,” I said, clasping her hands in mine. “Slow down. We have plenty of time.” 

Her hands were shaking; she was as worried about the events to come as I was. “You’re right,” she acknowledged. She took a deep breath and the shivers became less pronounced. 

“Everything okay?” 

Haley looked up at me, licking her lips gingerly. Her hair was already mussed from me running my hands through it and grasping her neck, and her dress was slightly askew. I knew I probably didn’t look any better. This wasn’t exactly the way they show things in the movies, was it? But it wasn’t any different than the other times we’d gotten close. Her hair always wound up a knotty mess and I always wound up with mascara on my face. “I’m fine. I think that, at this point, I’m just afraid of letting go. You know what I mean?” 

I pulled her closer to me, so that she was sitting in my lap. “You’ll feel better once it’s over and you know exactly what…it…is.” 

“It’s a little more than that,” she continued. “I’ve kinda been here before, you know? A lot of what we’ve done together, I’d never done with anyone else. That was the unknown, and it all worked out okay. But this…I’ve sorta had sex before. And it was unpleasant for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that I didn’t want it to happen at all.” She ran one hand over my chest and found my shirt buttons, which she began to slowly undo without me even noticing at first. “I know things are different with you. You’d never go that fast, or not wait for me to be ready, or keeping going when I said no. So it’s more a matter of letting go of that unhappy memory to let the good one in.” 

I hadn’t forgotten about what had happened to Haley seven years earlier. For a long time, she’d been unable to let any of it go. Several years of therapy and a lot of fitful, sleepless night had followed, and I’d stood by her through all of it. She hadn’t mentioned her rape in at least a year, which I’d taken to be a giant step forward. Her outlook on life had been so much more positive and steady. Realizing that her fears weren’t about the unknown, the way mine were, but about replacing a miserable experience with a tender, loving one, made my need to make this night perfect even greater. 

By the time I had sorted that all through, Haley had managed to remove my shirt. She’s wily like that sometimes; get me talking and I lose track of everything else. I pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her. This _was_ going to happen, and it was going to be positive. How could it not? 

*** 

So how did it all go? Well, I’ll sum it up like this. It wasn’t awkward, like Adam said his first experience was, or disappointing, like he’d suggested it might be. I think the best words to describe that night were _short_ , _sweet_ and _to the point_. I don’t know if those were the words Haley would use, though. She didn’t speak of her emotions, then or later. After we finished, she rolled over on the bed, still naked. I cleaned myself up, eased into a pair of sweatpants and sat beside her, kissing her damp hair. Haley grabbed my hand and pulled me over her body to my side of the bed. 

We lay together in the darkness and I cradled Haley in my arms. She was warm to the touch for once but covered in a fine layer of sweat. I’d known her for long enough to know that means she’d be cold to the point of chills in a few minutes. I grabbed the cotton blanket and wrapped her in it, tucking it around her body like a cocoon. Once she was a lump of blanket, I curled up against her, tucking my chin against her neck, breathing lightly onto it. I felt her tense briefly as goose bumps rose next to my lips, then relax so that our bodies formed one shape. We were silent for a while before she spoke. “Jordan?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I have something to tell you.” 

I put my guard up slightly but tried not to show it. This ‘something’ had to be major if she wanted to make a presentation of the facts, something she thought I wouldn’t like hearing. I swallowed, feeling my mouth go dry. “Good news or bad news?” I asked lightly, hoping she couldn’t sense my apprehension. 

Haley turned her head slightly; she wasn’t fooled. “I got accepted to the Basque program for the summer.” 

I dragged my upper arm over her more tightly. _That_ was what she was so nervous about sharing? “That’s great, honey.” It was, I guess. As much as I wasn’t thrilled about losing her for the summer, now she didn’t have to spend her entire spring semester applying to every overseas program for the fall, hoping she hadn’t passed all the deadlines. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, nuzzling my shoulder. 

I kissed her cheek and she turned it back so that my face was in her hair and she wasn’t looking at me. There had to be more to the story than that; if that was the only thing she wanted me to know, she’d have told me at dinner so we could toast it. “And…?” 

I heard her breath catch at my suspicion. “And what?” 

“And why did you wait until after we’d made love to tell me?” 

She struggled to unwrap herself from the blanket burrito. I helped her get free enough so that her arms were movable. She touched me gently on either side of my face and her fingers were cool, but warmer than I’d expected. “And…” She bit her lip, looking away briefly. “We’re leaving pretty early this summer,” she announced ruefully. 

My suspicion became more formed, more pronounced. “How early?” 

Haley released my cheeks and instead twisted the edge of the blanket nervously. “Two days after exams end.” 

Two days after exams end was four days before graduation. _My_ graduation. I sat up, staring at her. “You’re not going to be at graduation?” I surmised, in a voice that was far too loud for that time of day in that apartment complex. 

Haley unwrapped herself a little more and sat up beside me. “Shh,” she urged, for all the good it did. I made a huffing sound and got out of bed, pacing around the room. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, distressed at my obvious agitation over the situation. “I _want_ to be at your graduation. I want to be there for everything you want me for.” I completed one circuit around the bed and turned around to go the other way. “But I _have_ to do this for my degree. It’s not like I love you any less if I’m not at the ceremony, right?” 

Her logic did nothing to stop my movement. “How many times have I stood behind you and supported you?” I asked. It was a hypothetical question, really, but there was truth behind it. I’d stuck by her when she tried to push me away, when she was angry at everyone and everything, even though it would have been easy to say adios and stop all the hassle. I was there when she’d had problems with one of her professors and when she thought she’d fail his class. I halted my internal rant and spoke to her again. “I was at your graduation, wasn’t I? I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.” 

Haley put one hand to her forehead briefly, and then plucked a hair tie off her wrist. She looked down at it for a moment and used both hands to smooth her damp, snarled hair away from her face. I made an entire loop of the room while she was doing that. “As much as I’m looking forward to this trip, I’d rather stay and see you graduate, honestly. I can’t understand why you can’t see that.” 

I stopped in my tracks and bent over. My hands on my knees, I looked at her from that half-crouched position. Haley put her own hands to her hips and blew the hair that hadn’t made it into the ponytail away from her eyes. I opened my mouth to speak again, but just squeaked and turned my back to her. I was facing the window, but the shades were still drawn. I was mostly just seeing my own anger as I crossed my arms tightly around my chest. “Are you sure you want children someday, Jordan?” Haley asked me, her voice tight. She was as annoyed as I was by that point. “Because some days, dealing with you is like having an overgrown seven-year-old. I’m not sure I need any real kids, because I have hands full with you.” 

I don’t know what response Haley expected to that remark, but I didn’t give her anything. I heard her shuffling around, and then her bare feet hit the floor. She walked around the room for a moment, then plopped down on my side of the bed, a foot or two behind me. I felt a tug on the back of my pants and then she leaned forward, almost off the bed entirely, and grasped my elbow. I allowed her to pull me onto the bed so I was sitting next to her, but I kept my arms crossed and still didn’t look at her. “Hey,” Haley said, much more gently than she’d spoken earlier. She’d put on her fuzzy knee-length blue robe and she pulled her bare legs underneath her. “I know how easily your feelings get hurt sometimes, Jordan. And I’m sorry that I don’t have a better solution to this problem. I think you have two choices now: you can stay mad and let this fester, or you can let it go and we can enjoy the rest of our evening.” 

This wasn’t the first time Haley had seen me pout; that’s what she’d meant by the comment about me being seven. I continued to let the feelings fester, as she’d so eloquently put it, for probably three more minutes before I spoke to the closet door. “I don’t think you get it,” I murmured. 

Haley reached one hand toward my bare shoulder blades. Even though her fingers were actually warm, I felt a shiver go through me. “What don’t I get?” she asked quietly. An ambulance started blasting its siren on some nearby street, but otherwise it was stiller than I was used to for that building. Probably half the kids hadn’t moved back in yet, and most of the rest were out. Or asleep. “Please tell me what you’re thinking. I want to understand.” 

I released my angry pose, although I still felt the tension in my shoulders. “We’re supposed to be a couple,” I began, struggling to put the niggling worry in the pit of my gut into words. “You and me. Jordan and Haley.” Haley raised one eyebrow, but she beckoned for me to go on. “But you’re going to be gone for the whole summer. I guess…” I put my elbow on my knee and turned to look at her for the first time since I’d sat down. “I guess I’m just worried what’s going to happen to ‘us’ while you’re off being ‘you.’” 

“Oh,” Haley answered softly. A look of surprise briefly passed her face. “You’re worried about losing me? Why didn’t you ever say anything before?” I shrugged. It wasn’t as if I’d been hoping she wouldn’t make the cut for the program; it was all just so hypothetical until now. Only eight students were selected for this program, which typically garnered several hundred applicants. The chances of her making it were just so small, but I guess she’d beaten the odds. 

I looked at her for a moment. All of her makeup had rubbed off during the evening, making her face look fresh and natural. The ponytail had been hurriedly thrown together, leaving humidity-frizzled hair loose around her face. Above all, she just looked so sincere about her urge to understand my thought process. I continued to stare, memorizing every detail of her, so she spoke again. “You know, don’t you, sweetie, that this is what’s best for us? Because honestly, if we can’t handle being separated for the summer without losing faith in one another, then we aren’t ready to get married.” 

Her words hit me with all the force of the punch she’d given me all those years before in Maine. Not just because she was right, but also because of her semantics. _Losing faith._ I didn’t want her to ever think I’d lost faith in her. In us. “I might have said it wrong.” 

“No,” she insisted, watching me closely. I was still inspecting every inch of her. “I think you said it just right. It’s amazing how sometimes our ‘misspeaks’ say more than what we actually meant to say.” I raised a hand to protest, but she shot me down before I could speak. “Don’t think that means I think you’re going to run off with another woman while I’m gone, or that you think I’m going to cheat on you. I think we just need to be apart to prove that we really need to be together.” 

I nodded. Of course Haley thought that way; it was a grown up, more reasoned version of the logic that had caused her to break up with me when she was seventeen. If I left her and came back to her, then it was meant to be. Like the butterfly that you set free and wait for it to return—except that if either of us was the butterfly, it was her. Fragile yet strong; Delicate yet able to soar through the sky. Achingly beautiful. I had to let her go so she came back to me. “It’s not like we’ve never been separated before,” I said, knowing I’d need to refine my butterfly line before I used it on her. Maybe I’d tell her right before she left. 

“For longer, too,” she reminded me. I turned toward her, watching as she pulled her hand back from my shoulders—she could no longer reach them—and run it across her face. Now that I wasn’t crabbing at her any more, she no longer looked irritated but instead tired. It was past her normal bedtime. She stretched, closing her eyes. Peaceful. Then she turned back to me. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. 

“I want to remember this moment for all time,” I said, reaching out to stroke the loose hairs from her face. “I want to remember you— _us_ —like this for all time.” 

Haley smiled indulgently. “You’re so goofy,” she uttered in a low voice, invoking her favorite adjective for me. “Like you could forget this night.” 

“I’m not goofy,” I insisted, pretending I was insulted. “I’m a hopeless romantic. And you wouldn’t have me any other way.” 

She kissed me. “You’re right,” she agreed. “That’s exactly what I love about you.” Haley leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows. I felt her eyes caressing every inch of my body, before I leaned over her. I put my hands on either side of her ribcage and looked into her eyes. “I was going to suggest I get dressed here in a minute, but it looks like you have other plans.” 

I tugged at the tie on her robe. “I just want to make another memory for me to recall for all time,” I mumbled into her ear before I kissed her again. 

*** 

I held on to the memory of that night throughout time, just as Haley had said. I recalled it two weeks later when I tore my rotator cuff at practice. The coaches and doctors all told me I’d be back playing again soon, but I knew the truth. I spent the entire season in physical therapy and never made it back to the field. It worked out okay, though, because it meant more time for homework and for Haley. I finished my semester with something I’d been dreaming about since I started college: a 4.0 GPA. 

I remembered that moment as I waited at job interviews and when we celebrated when I accepted a job as an ‘event coordinator’ at a chain hotel in Fort Lauderdale. (For the first year, the work consisted mainly of fetching coffee and supervising the moving of tables and chairs, but I slowly worked my way up the ladder until I was booking and running events by myself.) 

I thought of it when Haley left for Barcelona and four days later when Dad, Nick and Claire attended my graduation. (Mom, Margo and Vanessa watched Byron’s ceremony on the other side of the country, and then Byron and I went to Ohio to watch Adam walk the stage the next weekend.) And I definitely had almost nothing else on my mind twelve weeks later when I picked Haley up at the airport in my very own car, one I had bought just days earlier. I’d been driving ‘our’ car all summer, but I knew Haley would need it in Gainesville while I was in Fort Lauderdale. The two of us continued to be separated for a good chunk of the next year, with her coming down one weekend a month and me trying to make it up north in the middle of the week once a month, but I no longer worried about the distance or the time lost. It was only temporary, after all. The next May Haley graduated as well, accepting a position as a sign language interpreter for the county and moving into the apartment she’d slowly been decorating and accenting for us over the past year, our apartment. 

One time I definitely wasn’t thinking of the past occurred about one year after the day we got our own place, two years, four months, two weeks and four days after her twenty-first birthday, when she finally became my wife. That weekend was the first time in nearly six years that all the Pikes had been in one place at one time. Given the fact that the definition of our family was ‘newly expanded,’ my mother had made only a single request: she wanted a photo of the entire Pike clan, because she didn’t know when she’d be able to get another. 

So just one hour after Haley had walked down the aisle in an antique lace dress but before we all sat down with the guests to eat roasted chicken breast with rice pilaf and listen to my brothers give speeches to lampoon us—actually, only Adam felt the need; Byron’s speech was shorter, sweeter and much less embarrassing—the whole family traipsed outside and got organized in the only space we could find that would hold us all, in front of an ivy-covered wall outside the banquet hall. Luckily, the weather was nice for a Connecticut May, warm enough to not need jackets and not too windy. The photographer set four folding chairs out. Mal and Claire posed with our parents. Dad held his only grandchild, who still clutched the empty flower girl basket as if it were something precious someone might try to steal if she loosened her grip. Up against the wall was a bench upon which Nick perched, surrounded by Margo and Vanessa (who both had to be dissuaded from giving him bunny ears.) 

In between the chairs and the bench the photographer arranged the ‘matching set’. Adam stood in the middle, putting one hand on Mom’s shoulder in a totally natural-looking gesture. Byron stood to his right and I was on his left. The row was rounded out by what Mom called her children she didn’t give birth to, her blondies. Haley had put a shawl on over her dress and she’d already kicked off the heels she’d worn during the ceremony, preferring to stand there barefoot even though it wasn’t _that_ warm out. 

On the other side, Jeff was the only guy not wearing a matching tuxedo, preferring instead to dress slightly more casually in a navy suit and tie. In honor of the fact that he was now nearly three years sober, we’d serve minimal alcohol at the reception, much to Adam’s dismay. Later that evening, just before we left for our honeymoon in Camden, Maine, Haley would pull Byron and Jeff aside. She’d decided not to perform the traditional bouquet toss, but instead handed the flowers to Byron without a single word, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek and walking away to take my hand. The two of them looked at each other, Byron quirking one eyebrow, but I didn’t hear or see what happened next. 

But that was several hours after the photo. For now Jeff just leaned over and whispered something in Byron’s ear, causing him to briefly shake with held-in laughter I could feel even with Adam in between us. Jeff kissed Byron just next to his ear, then wrapped his arm around him, leaning in a little closer to his ‘other family.’ _Click_. Another memory saved for all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That's it for now. I'm not done writing fanfiction (One day i'm going to tell the story of what became of Mallory, and I've actually started a piece that readers of my blog will remember me paying money to say I'd love to see someone else write...it involves really bad jokes, a crabby pre-teen Jeff, and his jailer--not babysitter--for the afternoon.) But I'm starting a new job next week and don't know how much time I'll have for fic for awhile.
> 
> It's been a blast, though!


End file.
